A Birthday for Robin
by muchbeddled
Summary: Queen Eleanor brings 12-year-old Prince John to Locksley for Robin's tenth birthday.
1. Chapter 1

"Come on, Much! The tree's loaded with apples. Just pick one out, and hit it!"

The miller's son turned indignant wide blue eyes on his best friend, Robin of Locksley, who seemed to expect him to be able to plunge an arrow into the heart of an apple, hanging on a tree, with an autumn breeze picking up, just because he found it so easy to do! As if apples grew on trees just so they could be picked off by arrows! Unbelievable! If it wasn't Robin's tenth birthday, Much would dish him out a piece of his mind.

"Have you chosen one yet?" Robin asked impatiently.

Much huffed a reply. "The red one," he said at last.

"They're all red, Much!" Robin cried, exasperated.

"May I try?"

Both boys turned to see seven-year-old Maid Marian, standing behind them, dressed in a new gown of crushed plum colored velvet.

Seeing Robin's smile light up his face reminded Marian of the way the sun had streamed into her room this morning, when her nurse Edna had thrown open her shutters. She couldn't help but smile back at him.

"You're looking very pretty, Marian," Much told her. "I like your new dress. Doesn't she look pretty, Robin?"

Marian held her breath, hoping to hear Robin agree.

"You look like a Christmas pudding," he said, grinning. "In fact, just looking at you makes me hungry."

He laughed, not unkindly, finding her, as always, the prettiest girl he had ever seen, but Marian took offense.

"Happy birthday, Show Off," she responded back. "Your father's angry at you."

"Why?" Robin asked, handing her his bow and trying not to show he minded.

"You weren't home when my father and I arrived. He can't find you, so he's mad."

"My father's probably tearing his hair out, looking for me," Much commented. "Or, he would be, if he had any hair. Most of it's gone. You should see how shiney the top of his head gets, when he's working hard, and sweating! Oh! I'm sorry, Marian! Am I allowed to say 'sweating' in front of you? There's always so much to remember, when speaking to ladies!"

"It's alright, Much," Marian assured him. "You have very nice manners. Better than some people, who claim I look like a pudding!"

Robin laughed again, and handed her an arrow. "I like pudding," he said charmingly. Then, using his most polite and respectful tone, he asked, "Which apple do you want to aim for, Marian?"

She studied the tree and pointed to one hanging from a low branch, then inched closer, knowing she didn't stand a chance from the distance the boys stood.

She was determined to hit the apple and make Robin proud of her. Remembering everything he had taught her, she carefully planted her feet and slowly drew back the bowstring. It dug painfully into her fingertips, but she hid her discomfort, took a breath, and let her arrow fly. It dismally sailed under the branch, a good two feet from the apple, and landed on the grass.

"The wind dropped," Robin told her kindly.

She begged him for another try. "Let me have another shot, please."

"Only if you chose a different apple," Robin told her. "I want to save that one to give to Much's mother."

"If you're doing it to make my father not angry, it won't work," Much said, resigning himself to the feel of his father's belt stinging his backside. "But she'll like it anyway. She likes everything you bring her."

Robin swaggered, knowing it was true, and told Much, "I won't let your father hit you."

"You always try to stop him, with little luck," Much sighed.

"But today is my birthday!" Robin grinned. "The way I see it, we can stay out here all day, and not get punished."

Much smiled thanks to his friend, but worried all the same. "Marian won't get punished," he said. "Her father's nice."

"He'll be upset once he discovers I'm gone, too," she told the boys. "I snuck away, as soon as he wasn't looking. I knew I'd find you here."

She lined up her shot, and missed again. "One more try," she begged.

"It's alright, Marian," Robin told her, understanding how important it was for her to make the shot. "Take as many shots as you want. I'll bet you only need one more."

She turned grateful eyes on him, and they both felt that inexplicable sense of joy they often experienced when their eyes met. An enveloping warmth went through both of them, and they felt connected and happy as they never felt when apart.

Reluctantly, Marian turned her eyes away, nocked an arrow to Robin's bow, lined up her shot, and fired.

The arrow struck an apple, bringing it to the ground. Robin scooped up little Marian in his arms and swung her around and around. Both were laughing with excitement.

"Incredible!" Much cried. "Now can we leave?"

"Not until we gather enough apples to pass out to every family in Locksley," Robin told him.

"But Robin," Much cried, "this is your father's orchard!"

"All the more reason to share its apples with his people," Robin explained, climbing into the branches of a tree and tossing down apples.

Marian lifted her skirts and climbed up after him. "Catch, Much!' she cried.

"Fill up the basket, Much," Robin instructed, flinging apples to the ground. "We don't have time to dawdle. I've got to make it home before the Queen arrives."

"The Queen?" Much cried, in surprise.

"The Queen's not coming to your birthday," Marian said, thinking Robin must be joking.

Robin just grinned at her. "You'll see soon enough," he said with a wink. "Good thing you look so pretty. Her Majesty values Beauty."

Marian stood still, in the branches of the tree. Had her ears heard him correctly?

It was more amazing to her that he had told her she was pretty, than his claim that Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine was coming to his house to celebrate his birthday! She couldn't believe it! What a wonderful day!


	2. Chapter 2

"There you are, you good for nothing! Trying to get out of work, again!"

The miller of Locksley grabbed his frightened son by the ear and began pulling him toward their humble cottage.

"Stop!" Robin of Locksley's voice piped up with a surprising tone of command for one so young. "Let Much go, now!"

The miller immediately released his son, who stood by, rubbing his sore ear.

"Master Robin," the miller said respectfully, "I don't want to hurt my boy. It's only, there's work to be done, and he runs off, to get out of it. He's not so young he shouldn't pull his weight. I've got a family to feed, and he's always wanting more than his fair share of that, while shirking his duties to run off and play with you!"

"Pull my ear, then," Robin said angrily. "I'm the one who came and got him. Go on, pull it!"

Robin, Much, and Marian had returned to the village of Locksley and had been going from cottage to cottage, distributing the apples they had gathered, with Robin basking in everyone's well wishes and hugs for his birthday, when Much's father had found them. Marian stood by Robin's side now, watching everything.

In spite of the fresh autumn chill in the air, the miller wiped sweat from the top of his bald head. "I could never lay a hand on you, Master Robin," the miller said. "That hand would be forfeit, were I to do so."

The miller's wide blue eyes looked so worried, and so similar to his son's, Robin felt his anger wash away. "Well," he said, more calmly, "try to think of Much as me, next time you want to lay so much as a finger on him. He's a hard worker, I swear he is! What did he miss, anyway? An hour of work?"

"More near two hours of good daylight," the miller answered, embarrassed by Lord Locksley's heir asking him to compare his son, who was never much, hence his name, to his own glorious self! The boy had the strangest, most lofty ideas, but they were completely impractical.

"You can't eat clouds, Master Robin," the miller said. "Please stop trying to fill Much's head with them."

Robin set his chin as a determined look sprang to his eyes. He turned and faced Marian. "What do you want to do?" he asked her. "Much and I owe the good miller here an hour each of our labor. Do you want to come along and help, or go back to my house and wait for me?"

"I want to help, too," Marian said earnestly, bringing Robin's sunny smile back to his face.

"There!" Robin grinned. "You get three workers today, instead of one!" He began rolling up his sleeves, while all his serfs smiled and chuckled and grinned at each other, over young Master Robin's willingness to do a commoner's work.

Much held his breath. Would Robin really come help him? And little Marian, too? This was wonderful! Incredible! Unbelievable! But his father probably wouldn't allow it.

Much was correct. His father objected.

"Master Robin," he said, flabbergasted, "you cannot come to the mill and dirty your hands with our labor! You just can't!"

"Why not? The longer we stand out here arguing, the more daylight we're losing! We'll never make up the time Much missed, at this rate!"

"But, Master Robin-"

"No buts," Robin said. "It's my birthday, and I want to help. So, what do we do?"

The miller could see how determined the young noble was. He sighed, wiped his brow, and said resignedly, "Very well. But if the Earl wants to punish me, I hope you can be as convincing to him as you were to me."

"No need to worry," Robin grinned, "my father will never know! Come on!" He grabbed Marian by her hand, and took off running toward the mill. Much followed, a skip in his step. The miller trudged along behind them, worried out of his mind.

...


	3. Chapter 3

Much had never enjoyed working in his family's mill so much as he did today. To be perfectly honest, he had _never _enjoyed working in his family's mill until today! It had always been too hot, or too cold, or too damp, or too dry, and just...horrible! But today, with Robin and Marian working alongside him, it was surprisingly fun!

Much was proud to be able to show Robin what to do. At first, Much's father refused to allow Robin to grind the grain on the quern stone, fearful the young noble would get blisters on his hands, but when Robin proudly showed the miller how tough and calloused his hands already were, he acquiesed. But of course, little Marian wasn't allowed to do so, until Robin insisted she have a turn.

It turned out to be a very short turn, for Robin didn't want Marian's hands hurt, but she was pleased to have a try. Mostly, Marian just scooped flour into sacks until her new plum colored gown was coated with flour, or else she held open sacks for the others to scoop flour into, but Robin hauled heavy loads and ground grain as if he worked in the mill every day of his life, and completed every chore with a smile on his face. All the while, he kept Much and Marian entertained with stories of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.

The hour he had promised the miller lengthened into two, before they realized it was growing late. They had each worked up quite an appetite, and Much's doting mother insisted on treating all three beloved children to loaves of bread, even though the miller worried their fare was too common for their small noble guests.

"Nonsense!" his wife told him. "Hungry growing bellies aren't so fine they won't appreciate something so good and filling as loaves made from our good flour!" She conveniently neglected to mention she often gave the children a bit of bread when they came to visit, for she'd rather go hungry herself than miss the sight of the young future lord and lady enjoying their humble crusts. But then again, such a kind, generous future lord made certain no one went hungry in his village!

...

Malcomb, Earl of Huntington and Lord of Locksley, stood waiting nervously outside his manor house, as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine and her grand retinue approached on horseback. Where was Robert? Where was his son?

"Your Majesty," Lord Malcomb greeted his sovereign's Queen, bowing respectfully before her as she drew rein before him. "It is truly an honor to welcome you to Locksley. And your children, Prince John and Princess Joan. As I said, Locksley is honored by your royal presence. May I present Sir Edward of Knighton, the Sheriff of Nottingham?"

Sir Edward bowed with reverence before the Queen, who peered down at him from her position on horseback. The Queen immediately dismissed the sheriff as being unworthy of her interest, for she preferred large, rugged, hairy men to gentle, timid ones.

"Mummy," twelve-year-old Prince John whined, "it smells like cows."

"Be quiet, John," Queen Eleanor snapped. In a more friendly voice, she asked, "And where is Robin?"

The Earl glanced nervously about him, hoping his heir would magically materialize. When of course he didn't, Lord Locksley explained, "I cannot believe he is not here to greet Your Majesty and Their Highnesses. My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. My son, I regret to say, has temporarily disappeared. But I assure you, he will be punished."

"Oh, wonderful!" Prince John cooed. "I want to watch!"

"Hush!" the queen ordered her youngest, and least loved child. "Go soft on him, Locksley," she warned. "He is a great favorite of ours. I look forward to hearing his excuses, however."

"Your Majesty is Mercy incarnate," Lord Locksley smiled, gracefully helping her dismount, and leading her and her two youngest children into his manor.

...

"As you know, Huntington," Queen Eleanor told him privately, "I believe in speaking my mind. I am hoping your son and my daughter might find favor in each other's company. I realize you have already made arrangements for his future, but I might be willing to arrange a greater match for him than a mere knight's daughter."

"Your Majesty?" Lord Malcomb was stunned.

"Why else did I bring Princess Joan? John, unfortunately, was thrust upon me. His father the King insisted, when John whined and fussed to join me. That one would do better, were my husband not to cater to his every spoiled whim. It is my belief Henry does it just to goad me. But, to return to more pleasant topics, I see you are surprised by my suggestion."

"Yes, Your Majesty, in truth, I am! The royal princess? Surely you would do better to ally her with a prince."

"You forget, she is our youngest daughter. There are not so many kings with available princes, near enough her age. She is thirteen...high time I secured her future. And she, unlike her younger brother, is a fine child! Lovely, too, do you not agree?"

Lord Malcomb obediantly looked at Princess Joan, sitting sedately on a cushioned chair. The girl was indeed lovely, with tawny hair and bright blue eyes, a smaller, feminine version of her older brother Richard.

Why not? The Earl was thinking, excited by the prospect of Robin marrying into the royal family. His own sister's daughter Constance, after all, was betrothed to Prince Geoffrey, another sibling in the "Devil's Brood," as the children of Henry and Eleanor were styled.

He'd never regretted betrothing his only son and heir to Lord Knighton's only daughter, even though he knew he could have easily secured a better match. The union had been his late wife's desire, and the affection between the two children was remarkably strong. Yet, he'd never expected an opportunity as golden as this to present itself!

Maid Marian was young, and lovely, and stood to inherit all her father's holdings. Knighton would have no difficulty finding her another potential husband.

Lord Locklsey's eyes were glowing when his son, smeared with grime and covered in flour, burst through the door of his home, along with an equally soiled Maid Marian, and bowed on one knee before the Queen of England.


	4. Chapter 4

Marian couldn't stop staring at the beautiful princess in Robin's house.

To Marian's little girl eyes, the Queen was an old woman, and therefore, not at all interesting. Twelve-year-old Prince John looked nearly grown to her, but he behaved like a spoiled, whiney baby, and he wasn't anywhere nearly as handsome as her friend Robin, so the prince didn't interest her either. But Princess Joan!

Like most little girls, Marian loved pretending she was a princess herself. She had even named her horse "Princess," and she adored listening to stories featuring beautiful princesses, though she often wished they would behave more sensibly in the stories, and act braver, and not need rescuing quite so much.

But now, she couldn't believe she was actually in the same room with a real, live, beautiful princess, who seemed everything Marian's girlish heart could ever wish a true princess to be! Why hadn't Robin told her how beautiful Princess Joan was, when he'd been away at the King's Court? Whenever he'd come home, he'd barely mentioned her. Instead, he'd raved on an on about her big brother, Prince Richard, and how fearless and strong and benevolent he was. Marian had listened politely, but she hadn't cared. In her mind, not even a prince could match Robin in bravery or looks or kindness, but she wouldn't tell him so.

The two of them had withstood the fierce, wilting looks their fathers cast on them when they came tumbling into the manor to greet the Queen. Marian could see what a mess Robin looked, and she supposed she must look every bit as dirty and unkempt as he. Not to mention, the fact they were so late!

After one scorching look from Her Majesty, accompanied by a stern, "You're late, Robin," the Queen had grown amused by their disheveled appearances, and had pleasantly ordered Robin to relay their adventures to her. She had even draped a motherly arm around his waist, drawing him near to her while she sat, as she listened and laughed at his stories. And when Robin pulled out a wormy apple he had saved for Princess and offered it to the Queen instead, she laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from her royal eyes.

"No, Robin," the Queen said with a warm smile, "you must abide by your original plan and give the apple to the mare. I like the fact you wish to bestow your favors on a "princess," after all." The Queen gave Lord Locksley a meaningful look, before turning back to his son.

Prince John hated his "Mumsie" paying Locksley's heir so much attention. He stomped his foot and pouted, "You really ground grain in a mill? How could you belittle your station, and consort with peasants? Oh, I forget whom I'm addressing! You're the one who prefers a yeoman's bow and arrows to a nobleman's sword!" Turning to the Earl of Huntington, he narrowed his eyes and taunted, "If I didn't know better, Locksley, I'd say your late wife gave you horns by spreading her legs for a common serf! How else can you explain her offspring's preference for the company and pursuits of peasants?"

"John!" Queen Eleanor exclaimed. "Apologize at once!"

"I won't! Robin of Locksley is a little beast! I'm sure his mother was a whore."

"You take that back," Robin fumed, hurt and anger in his childish eyes.

"Bastard, bastard!" John cried, in a sing songy voice.

"I give you until the count of three to take that back!" Robin warned. "One, two, three!"

In a flash, Robin leaped upon the Prince, threw him to the floor, straddled his body, and began pounding him with his fists. Marian was the only person in the room proud of the boy. Everyone else, including the Queen, was outraged.

Robin's father, the Earl, was torn between pride in his son for defending his mother, and mortification that he had dared to hurt a Prince of the Realm.

Pulling his son off the prince, he furiously sent him to his room. "You do not touch Royalty!" he ordered. "Where are your manners? Go to your room, young man, and stay there, until I can think of a punishment worthy of your crime! Thornton," he ordered his reeve, "bring me all of Robert's presents. I will see them all given to others, more worthy of them."

Robin pretended not to care. It was worth it to beat his fists into Prince John for insulting his mother, even if he did feel disgraced in front of the Queen. He shot a quick glance at Marian, who nodded to him with sympathy and approval in her eyes. Her support made him smile, a slow, proud smile that irritated his father even further.

Robin didn't care so much about losing his presents, except for the hunting knife with the ivory handle he knew he was to have received. He had dreamed of that knife and longed for it for weeks, ever since he had ruined his own blade by secretly using it to carve his initials with Marian's in the trunk of a tree, deep in Sherwood Forest. Only Much knew he had done so, but Much didn't know what he had been carving, not having been taught his letters.

Prince John smirked as Robin ran past him and up the stairs to his room.

Marian looked after her friend, feeling so sorry for him, and wanting to help. She glanced at Princess Joan, to gage her reaction. The beautiful princess sat on her chair, immovable and still as a statue. For all the reaction she made, it might never have happened.


	5. Chapter 5

Robin paced the floor in his room, angry at his own father. He knew better than to lay a hand on royalty, but Prince John's ugly mockery of his mother could not be allowed to stand! Why hadn't his father taken issue and handled it?

He was glad he'd hit the prince! Even if it meant he'd go to Hell when he died... Alright then, he'd go to Hell! He was glad.

He did not mean that. He still was glad he'd hit Prince John, and would do it again in the same situation, but he did NOT want to go to Hell. Prince John should be the one to go to Hell, not he. He didn't want to spend eternity in the company of bad people, with Beelzebub and his demons. He stopped pacing, crossed himself, and told his Lord he was sorry.

Outside his window, he heard a long drawn out whistle with a lilt near the end. He tensed, listening for it again. His eyes lit up when he heard it a second time. Marian! She must have stepped outside, and was signalling for him!

He ran to his window and quickly scanned the area outside. Not seeing her, he knew all the same she was down there. Throwing a leg over his windowsill, he climbed all the way to the ground, clutching the ivy that grew up the wall on this side of the house.

Marian, looking very pretty despite the flour on her gown and in her messy hair, and a streak of grime on her cheek, was by his side the minute his feet hit the earth.

They wasted no words, but gave each other a smile, then clasped hands and set off running for the forest.

Robin had to shorten his steps so she could keep up with him. Still, she was a very good runner for a little girl, he thought proudly. Why he should be proud didn't make sense to him, but he felt it all the same. Pride in her accomplishments and abilities, he guessed it was. Somehow, he felt it his right to take pride in those things.

They ran to their favorite place on the outer edge of the forest. A stream rushed fiercely there today, full and nearly overflowing its banks, thanks to recent rains, and a log stretched over the embakment, forming a bridge.

Robin rested on his hams by the water and scooped some of it into his hands. It was cold, but he splashed some onto his cheeks, to cool his temper and wash away the dirt and flour. Marian, carefully lifting her skirts to prevent them from getting wet, followed his example. And then, they kicked off their boots and balanced their way acrosss the bridge, then plopped down near its center.

It was too chilly for stocking feet, so they put their boots back on their feet, and sat side by side, listening to the water rush beneath them.

"I hate that whiney Prince John," Marian said at last. "At least you got some good blows in."

"Is he badly hurt?" Robin asked, wishing it could be true.

"I hope so," she answered. "It's hard to tell. He'd whine at any little scratch, I think."

Robin rubbed his right fist. It was certainly sore, so he guessed the prince must be hurting, too. But it wasn't anywhere near how bad he felt, from hearing his mother insulted, and watching his father do nothing.

"Why didn't he stand up for her?" he asked Marian, a plaintive note in his voice.

Marian cradled his sore fist in her hand, and rubbed it gently. Her touch was just right, and Robin liked it very much.

"I don't know," she sympathized. "I wish my father was bolder, lots of times. I was proud of you, though. Your mother's proud, I think, too."

"I still don't understand," he sighed. "My father's brave, and good, and true. Why didn't he stand up for his wife?"

"Maybe he's sorry he didn't. Maybe he'll think about it, and give you your presents later. Oh! I have something for you," she remembered, "but I left it back at your house. Just let your father try and stop me from giving it to you! I worked too hard not see your face when you see it!"

Robin longed to say something, but held his tongue. He wanted to tell her he'd stand up for her, if anyone ever breathed a nasty word about her in his earshot. But he couldn't form the words. Every time he tried, his throat got tight, and they just stuck there.

"Let's go back," he said instead. "No sense in us both being in trouble."

"I don't care if I am missed and get in trouble. I'd rather be in trouble with you, Robin, than out of it without you."

Smiling happily now, they pulled off their boots, balanced their way back across the log bridge, put their boots back on their feet, and headed toward Locksley.

A little ways from the village, they stopped. Prince John, accompanied by his stoney faced attendants, was standing over a clearly frightened Much. Much was crying.

Robin clenched his fist and charged.


	6. Chapter 6

Prince John, supported by his force of full grown attendants fanning out behind him, was enjoying taunting and bullying such an easy target as the trembling miller's son. The boy's wide blue eyes spoke to John of fear, and stupidity, and gullibility. What a delightful way to get back at that little beast in the manor who had dared strike him! John, a Prince of the Blood Royal!

At least it would have to do for now. This pudgy peasant boy groveling before John was Robin of Locksley's special pet; everybody knew it. John would have a bit of sport with the snivelling brat, and that would help appease his wounded royal spirit, until he could return to Court and tell his father King Henry how the Earl of Huntington's son had attacked and brutalised him, and how "dear" Mumsie had done nothing but agree to send the beastly boy to his room!

"Of course you know who _I_ am," John gloated. "Say it."

Much tried, but needed to gulp before he could speak. John tried coaxing.

"Go ahead, say my name. I won't cut out your tongue, at least not yet."

The prince laughed at his own wit.

"You're...you're Prince John," Much managed to squeak.

"That's right! Very good! And you are...? Go on, I won't bite...at least not yet."

Much gulped again. "I'm Much, the miller's son."

" 'Much the miller's son!' How delightful for you to have run into me, Much the miller's son! The only thing '_much'_ about you is your pudgy belly!" The prince jabbed his finger so hard into Much's abdomen, the boy doubled over in pain.

"Excellent!" Prince John cried. "I see you know how to bow before your prince! Tell me, Much the miller's son, what are you doing with these buckets?"

Much had been sent by his mother to fetch water from the pond. He was just returning home with two buckets full, trying hard not to slosh the water onto the ground, when the prince had stopped him.

"I was fetching water for my mother, Your Highness."

John gasped with delight. "For your mother! How very sweet!"

His temper instantly turned foul. Narrowing his eyes and scowling, he circled Much threateningly, hatred and menace dripping from him.

"And what is your mother like, miller's spawn? Does she prefer your brothers and sisters over you?"

John's mood changed again. Now, he was relishing playing the victim. He sniffed, and wiped nonexistent tears from his eyes.

"I don't have any brothers or sisters, Your Highness," Much replied.

"None? You're all the miller and his wife have got? Do you mean to tell me, you get all your parents' attention?"

Much nodded.

John's face took on a sour expression. He snapped his fingers, and two attendants jumped forward.

"Douse him," the prince ordered.

Much jumped as two buckets of frigid water were thrown over him. Prince John laughed merrily at his discomfort.

"And what will Mummy say, when you return home with empty buckets? Will she flog you? Oh, I do hope so!"

John's eyes lit up as an idea struck him. "Shall we give you a little foretaste of what you can expect?"

"What-what- what do you mean?" Much asked, shivering violently.

"You dare address me without using proper obeisance?"

"Proper _what?" _Much was at a loss, not having heard the word before.

"Flog him," John ordered smugly.

"With all due respect, Your Higness," the leader of John's burly attendants asked, "with what?"

"I don't know! Be creative! Use your belts, for God's sake!"

Much sank to his knees and covered his head with his arms as the two burly attendants whipped him with their belts.

Prince John giggled. "Such sport!" Then, desiring further sport, he whined, "No, not the leather ends! Use the metal buckles! Let's inflict some _real _pain!"

The men did as they were told and Much wept with each blow. When at last Prince John's appetite for pain was sated, he raised his hand for his men to stop, and cried, "Let that be a lesson to you, Much the miller's son! Now, methinks you are too well fed for a peasant! Doesn't Locksley know his serfs will work harder for him if they're hungry?"

He huffed. "Since you enjoy eating so _much, _and since you're already down on the ground grovelling, let's see how you enjoy eating mud! You're dripping in the dirt. There's plenty of mud for you to taste! Go on! Scoop some up in your hands and let's see you feast on it."

Obediantly, Much dug his fingers into the earth and placed their mud encrusted ends into his mouth. Prince John laughed gleefully.

"And what say you to something even more tasty?"

He snapped his fingers again, and the same two attendants stepped forward.

"Your Highness?" the leader asked.

"Fetch some cow sh#t. And some horse dung as well. Fill his buckets with it. Let's see which delectable treat this pudgy peasant's palate prefers."

It was at this crucial moment that Robin and Marian returned from the forest.

Robin didn't know what the prince was doing to Much, but his friend's unhappiness spoke volumes. Without thinking, he blazed toward the prince like a forest fire.


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you alright?"

Robin laid a hand on Much's shoulder, as the soaking wet miller's son shivered on his knees in the mud. Tears spilled from the miller's boy's eyes as he nodded his head "yes," but the red welts on his neck and hands spoke otherwise. Robin knew there must be more welts hidden under Much's clothing. Marian caught up and dropped to her knees beside Much to hug him, oblivious to the mud staining her new plum colored gown.

Prince John's attendants bowed their heads respectfully at Huntington's son's approach, and Prince John squealed with delight.

"You!" he cried, clapping his ring covered hands together in glee. "If it isn't the Birthday Boy himself! What are you doing outdoors? I thought I heard your lord father banish you to your room, Robert." He mockingly said the name in imitation of the Earl's stern tones.

"Much, go home," Robin ordered his friend.

"But, but, but, Robin!" Much sputtered. "My mother told me to fetch water."

"I'll bring her the water, once I'm finished here. Go!"

"Not so fast," Prince John commanded, when Much rose to leave. "What's your hurry, Peasant? Do you refuse to show your future liege lord the same loyalty he shows you? Why, he even offered to carry water for you! That in itself is astonishing! Why would you do that, Robert?" Again, he tried to mimic Robin's father's voice.

"Because, Your Highness," Robin answered, his own voice sneering the prince's title, "Much is my friend. You would not understand, not having any friends yourself."

The prince's eyes grew wide with outrage and disbelief. "You dare insult your prince?" he cried. "This is too much! You deserve worse than I gave him!"

"Go on then," Robin challenged the prince, "order your men to do to me what they did to Much. You're lucky I didn't bring my bow along, or you'd go down in history as John, the One Eyed."

"You just threatened your prince!" John cried. He turned to his men. "You heard him! You heard him threaten me!"

"That was no threat," Robin declared furiously. "But this is. I will beat you black and blue for what you did to Much. Come on, Prince John."

Robin raised his fists in invitation to fight. Much pulled Marian away to safety. The prince's men watched in fascinated admiration at the only boy in the kingdom who dared challenge King Henry's favorite child. They hoped he'd get in a few good blows before they managed to pull him off the snivelling brat.

"What?" Robin snapped, when John made no move to fight. "Too cowardly to throw a punch? Come on! Let's have this out, now! You don't come to my village and bully my people!"

Prince John was so astounded that anyone would dare raise their fists and challenge him to fight, he was speechless. How dare this grubby little boy treat him so? Even for Locksley's heir, this was too much! John was still hurting from the earlier blows Robin had given him, and he didn't want more of the same.

At last, the prince turned to the leader of his men. "Do something, McGhee! Seize the little beast, before he hurts me!"

"In respect, Your Highness, I will not lay a hand on Huntington's heir, unless your person is in danger."

"What do you think it's in, if not in danger?" John shrieked. "His fists are up, man! He means to hit me!"

"Only if you agree to fight, Your Highness. The boy is honorable. I will not touch him."

Robin lowered his fists and strode to face McGhee. "And yet, you did not hesitate to beat my friend when Prince John ordered. Why refuse the prince, when it's me, then?"

"My lord," McGhee replied, confused, "the blood of kings runs in your veins. We will not touch you, unless the prince were truly threatened."

Robin glared at the man, then turned his furious gaze on all Prince John's attendants. "Very well, then," he said. "I threaten him." He turned and refaced the prince. "Prince John, I suggest you raise your fists and fight me. Make no mistake, I will hit you."

Instantly, he threw a punch, hitting John squarely under his right eye. John wheeled back and fell on his bottom in the mud where Much had been dripping. Robin stood back, fists still raised, calling for the prince to rise and continue fighting.

But he didn't. He screamed curses at Robin instead, and ordered his men to seize the boy. This time, his men obeyed.

McGhee himself grabbed Robin's arms from behind, and wondered that the boy almost looked triumphant at being held.

"Take him to the manor. Maybe my mother will do something other than coddle him, this time!" John screamed. "And, God's Blood, someone help me up!"

John strutted by Robin's side, as McGhee held the boy and pulled him to Locksley Manor. Marian bid Much farewell, and returned to the manor herself. She would willingly confess her own part in luring Robin outdoors, and tell all she knew about Robin sticking up for Much. She doubted whether anyone would even let her speak, being only a little girl, but she'd be strong, and somehow make them listen.


	8. Chapter 8

Prince John was crowing with supercilious malice when McGhee and his other armed attendants dragged Robin of Locksley before his father, the Earl of Huntington, and his guests, the Sheriff of Nottingham, Princess Joan, and Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. Robin, dirty, angry, and bedraggled, held his chin high as he faced his father. Proud defiance shone in his eyes, and he held his tongue and did not flinch, even when Prince John slapped him hard across his face.

"McGhee, what is the meaning of this?" the Queen cried. "Unhand that boy! How dare you hold our host's only son and heir? And John! What do you mean by slapping him?"

"He's a beast!" John cried. "He dared assault me, Mummy! He doubled up his fist and punched me in the face! Tell her, McGhee! Everyone here saw him do it, the little fiend! Order his hand chopped off, Mummy! I'll feed it to my dogs! Please, Mummy!"

"John, enough!" the Queen ordered. "Be silent!"

Prince John whined and whimpered, and threatened under his breath to tell the king when they returned to Court. He threw himself down on a bench, but leaped to his feet, finding his royal buttocks sore from their recent fall in the mud. Storming into a corner, he carefully eased himself onto a seat, and pouted.

Sir Edward of Knighton's kind face looked at Robin with sympathetic worry. Princess Joan remained calm and aloof, studying her hands in her lap, and the Queen narrowed her eyes and studied the boy with a burning intensity, and a hint of admiration.

Robin's father did not see the admiration. He was outraged and appalled by his son's conduct.

"Robert, did I not send you to your room?" he asked, his voice cold as steel.

"You did, Father." The answer was spoken as proudly as the look in the boy's crystal blue eyes.

"Then why did you disobey me?"

Robin hesitated. He did not want to implicate Marian in this. At all costs, he wanted to spare her from punishment. At last, he answered, as honestly as he could, "I wanted to play outside."

A small clear voice piped up, drawing everyone's attention to the doorway. Framed inside it, stood little Marian, her cheeks ruddy and streaked with dirt, her hair loose and tangled, her gown a muddy, floured mess. "I am to blame, my lord," she explained. "Punish me, but do not punish Robin on his birthday. I whistled for him to come out and play."

"Marian!" Sir Edward cautioned. "Be still!" Bowing to the Queen, he apologized, "Your Majesty, please forgive my daughter. She speaks when she should be quiet. She is young and has much to learn."

The Earl of Huntingon looked fondly at the small, pretty child. Even dirty and unkempt as she appeared, she was the prettiest little maiden he'd ever set eyes on. He had a soft spot for little Marian, and felt a traitor for plotting to break her unknown betrothal to his son. Still, she was overbold in speaking up as she had before the Queen.

Prince John stood up and fairly screamed, "Why won't any of you dottards listen to me? Robin of Locksley's crime is not that he snuck out of his room, but that he dared raise his fists to me! If my face is scarred-"

"John, silence!" his mother commanded. "I will get to the bottom of that, never fear." Her voice softened, as she continued. "But first, I'd like to hear what this little lady has to say. Come here, child." She gestured for Marian to approach her.

Robin watched, a faint smile turning up the corners of his mouth, as Marian approached the Queen and dropped into a graceful curtsey, as she had been taught to do. The Queen extended a hand heavy with jewels and raised her up.

"You say you whistled?" she asked. "Can you show me how you did that?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Marian answered, unafraid. Her father bowed his head with shame. He could not believe his own daughter would do such a common, boyish thing and offend the Queen of England, by whistling!

Marian puckered her rosy lips and blew. Her whistle was loud and clear, its pitch first rising and then falling again.

The Queen lifted her eyebrows and smiled, and even Princess Joan blinked her eyes and stared.

"And where did you learn to do that?" Her Majesty asked.

Marian smiled proudly. "Robin taught me. We use various birdcalls as signals."

"Indeed? How very clever of you!" Queen Eleanor signalled for Robin to join her as well.

He quickly approached. Since Marian had executed such a beautiful curtsey, he bowed on one knee before the Queen, not to be outdone.

"Arise, Robin," the Queen said fondly. "You two seem to want to keep the other from getting into trouble, yet you stir up trouble together. I cannot decide whether the two of you are better together, or apart."

"Together!" They spoke the word in unison, each looking at the Queen with pleading blue eyes.

"Well," Her Majesty decided, "there will be time tomorrow to get to the bottom of what happened between you and my son, Prince John. But, today is your birthday, Robin! And I think your lord father was hasty withdrawing your gifts. I, for one, would like to see what such a fine, brave boy as yourself has received this day." She faced the Earl. "Huntington, restore his gifts to him! This is a party, is it not?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." The Earl smiled slowly, glad to be able to shower the son he adored, but did not always understand, with birthday presents.

"If you please, Your Majesty," Marian spoke up again, "I would like to give Robin my present first."

"Of course," the Queen allowed graciously.

Marian felt suddenly shy as she handed Robin his present.

Inside a clean white linen square, Robin found a frog fashioned childishly out of clay. It had a small round ball for a head, with two enormous eyes pressed on top and a smile etched into the clay, a large square body, decorated clumsily on its belly with the Locksley symbol and two stalks of wheat as they appeared on the Huntingtom crest. The frog balanced unsteadily on four thick legs, with large triangles for feet. Robin grinned brightly as he held it in the palm of his hand.

"You made this?" he asked Marian.

She nodded her head.

"It's good!" he declared, believing it was.

He remembered how much fun they'd had just two months before, when the August sun had warmed the Earth, and they had played alongside leaping frogs by the banks of the River Trent. They had skipped stones and dug up clay that afternoon, and Robin had shown Marian how to roll it to make clay arrow shafts. They'd stuck actual feathers in the ends, and made the tips pointed, but their toy arrows alway broke when they held they aloft. But Marian hadn't given up! She'd worked the clay to make this frog for Robin today!

He grinned at its funny, happy face, picturing it on perched on the chest in his room. All of a sudden, it was snatched out of his hand by Prince John.

"Give it back, Prince John!" Robin roared.

"Whoops!" John pretended to drop the clay figure, but actually threw it with so much force, it shattered on the floor.

At that, Princess Joan broke her silence. "John, you are a monster," she said coldly.

Robin looked at the thirteen-year-old young lady with her tawny gold hair and her graceful curves, developing an instant crush on the princess.


	9. Chapter 9

Queen Eleanor took over the seating arrangements for Robin's birthday feast, seating herself at the head of the long rectangular table, with Robin at her right hand side. She allowed Marian to sit beside Robin, and placed Princess Joan directly across the table from him, where he had a good view of her beauty. At the far end of the table, the Queen had Lord Locksley preside at its foot, with the Sheriff on his right, and Prince John on his left. The Prince sulked during the entire duration of the meal, complaining of the food, the company, but mostly, the occasion for celebration.

"This isn't the _real_ party," Robin told the Queen, stealing glances at the princess. "It takes place tonight! I hope Your Majesty will stay for it."

"Indeed?" Queen Eleanor asked. "And what, exactly, takes place at the _real _party, Robin?"

Robin and Marian exchanged smiles before he answered.

"It takes place outdoors, in my village. We throw a feast for all the people, with games and music and village dances. Everyone has fun! And if some people are unwell and unable to come, we take them food and visit for a while, to cheer them up. And I get to shoot, and anybody else who wants to string a bow."

"It's not a contest," Marian explained. "The Earl won't let Robin embarrass the men by outshooting them."

"It's just for fun," Robin continued, finishing her thought.

The Queen marked how often the boy and girl seemed to do that as they talked. Their thoughts were more in sync than a fond, married couple's. Well, she thought, were they to marry, as planned, they would surely enjoy a contented life together, lacking in passion, but rich in friendship. She would shortly learn how wrong she was about her interpretation of their relationship.

"Robin," Marian suggested, "tell Her Majesty about Geoffrey."

Robin grinned at his friend, then faced the Queen. "Geoffrey does tricks! If you stay for the feast tonight, you'll see. He's so funny-"

"He's hilarious," Marian confirmed.

"-he can pull an egg out from behind his ear!"

"How very droll," the Queen commented. "Well, I certainly cannot miss such a humorous spectacle as a man who can pull an egg from behind his ear! But just who is this Geoffrey, Robin?"

"He's a serf," the boy explained, saying the word cheerfully, without any disparagement in his voice.

Princess Joan's face maintained its pleasant expression, even though she felt discouraged. She knew her mother's wish for a match between herself and Huntington's heir, but the boy was so young! She felt herself to be a young lady, but Robin was just a little boy! A very pretty little boy, with remarkable blue eyes, a straight aristocratic nose, pretty mouth, and handsome cleft in his chin, but a little boy all the same. Better him than a dottering old man, but why, oh why couldn't her lady mother arrange a match for her with the seventeen-year-old heir to the Earl of Leicester, instead of the child prattling across the table from her?

With dinner over, the Queen announced that Robin should walk Princess Joan around the village, to show her Locksley. Marian noticed Robin blush, and suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"May I come, too?" she asked.

"Of course," Robin agreed, then recanted. "That is, if Her Royal Highness doesn't object."

Marian felt a wave of something wash over her. She had never felt this way before. It felt something like anger, but there was something more as well, that she didn't understand.

"I have no objections," Princess Joan said. "I'll be pleased to have the company of both you children."

Her mother shot her a disapproving glance, and Joan bowed her head and took Robin's arm, surprising him. The boy was tall for his age, but Joan had reached her full adult height, and she stood half a head higher. They left the house, with Marian trodding unhappily at their heels.

Marian didn't like the princess hanging onto Robin's arm, as if she couldn't walk unassisted. She especially didn't like how polite Robin was behaving to the lovely golden haired girl, nor how he was ignoring her.

Not recognizing it was jealousy that began raging in Marian's girlish breast, she only knew she felt terrible. The final straw came when Robin, offering to teach the Princess the basics of archery, stood behind her, reaching around her to improve her aim, his arms in a near embrace.

Without thinking, Marian ran and pushed the princess into some fresh gooey dog doo.


	10. Chapter 10

Why did the sun always have to shine on the days Marian was banished to her room, expected to work on her hated embroidery? For that's exactly what it was doing today, October 15th, the day following Robin's birthday.

Marian was in serious trouble. Part of her wished she could take back shoving Princess Joan into dog doo, part of her insisted she didn't care, and yet another part of her was stubbornly glad she'd done it, even if she couldn't understand why.

The princess was pretty and nice, and Marian had admired her, right up until the time Robin paid her so much attention. Still, it was a mean act, pushing someone undeserving into that smelly, gooey mess. She supposed she deserved her punishment, even if every bit of her wished she could be running about outdoors on such a beautiful day. Determined, however, to take it, Marian pushed her embroidery needle through the cloth, then tugged hard and broke the floss when it caught in a knot.

"Curses," she muttered, then held her breath, lest someone in her household heard her.

She almost shot to the ceiling when light laughter coming from her window startled her.

Angry yet delighted all at once, she ran to her window and challenged, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Just popping by to see the Condemned," Robin grinned back. "Errand of mercy."

"Mercy would be announcing yourself with our signal, instead of sneaking up and spying on me."

"I wasn't spying! Nice language, by the way. So, that's how proper young maidens speak, when they think no one's around to hear them."

"Watch out. I'm still holding the needle."

Robin's grin widened as he threw a leg over her sill and climbed into her room.

"I didn't hear anyone invite you in," Marian teased.

"Your steward just rounded the corner," Robin told her. "Wouldn't do to get you into deeper trouble."

Robin sauntered around her room, inspecting everything. Despite Marian's objections of, "Don't touch!" he picked up her embroidery, tried not to grimace, and asked, "Why'd you do it, Wren?"

"Do what?"

"You know. Push Her Highness in the...You picked the wrong Royal, you know. You should have pushed Prince John!"

They shared a laugh at that, and Robin invited, "Come out with me?"

"I can't," Marian complained. "I'm being punished, remember?"

"No one will know. Besides, you're wasting your time cooped up here doing your embroidery, when you could be out with me, on a glorious adventure!"

"What kind of adventure?" Marian asked suspiciously, intrigued all the same.

Robin's eyes twinkled. "I have a plan," he told her. "Much has to help out at the mill today, and I want to play with him. So, I was thinking, you and I could disguise ourselves as outlaws, ambush him when he's out delivering flour, rob him of the money he earns, bring him to the forest, and play with him all afternoon!"

"That's your plan?" Marian cried. "What kind of a friend are you? Poor Much!"

"We won't really rob him," Robin explained. "We'll replace every penny he's got with a silver crown, without telling him. Then, just think how pleased his family will be when they open his satchel and see all the silver! And Much won't have a clue how it got there!"

"Where will we get the money?" Marian asked, fascinated by Robin's plan.

"The Queen presented it to me for my birthday," Robin told her casually.

Marian was amazed. "And you want to give it to Much?"

"Of course! But his family won't take it, because they're too proud or something, so I thought if we tricked them..."

"They'd think Much got a really good price for the flour!" Marian's eyes shone with the thrill of the adventure, but most especially with Robin's intended act of kindness.

"Alright," she agreed. "I'm in. But I still think Much'll die of fright when we jump out and ambush him. Couldn't you just distract him, and I could slip the money into his satchel? He's easily distracted, you know."

"I could," Robin agreed, "but where would be the fun in that?"

...

Disguised in ragged boy's garments, with hoods pulled up over their heads, Robin wasn't quite satisfied with their disguises.

"You still look too pretty to be an outlaw," he told Marian. "Come here. Let's smear mud on our faces. That'll make us look fierce."

"Alright." Marian dug her fingers into the mud and rubbed it onto her cheeks, nose, and forehead.

"It would be better if we had beards, instead of dirty faces," Robin decided. "Wash that off, and I'll paint a beard on you."

Liking his idea, Marian splashed water on her face and rubbed it dry with her sleeve.

"Hold still," Robin ordered, as he daubed mud between her nose and mouth and onto her chin. Inspecting his work, he exclaimed, "You look great, Marian! A right, regular outlaw! Now, do me."

Robin held very still while Marian painted his face with mud. Something unexpected came over him, however, with her face so close and her fingertips stroking his cheek. He could feel her light breath on his face as well, and suddenly, he felt an overpowering urge to kiss her!

"What's wrong?" Marian asked, sensing the change in him.

"I don't know," he confessed. "You just look so pretty."

"Better make my beard darker, then," Marian decided. "Outlaws aren't supposed to be pretty."

"You are," Robin said, grinning. "You're gorgeous."

"Stop it. You made me smear the mud. Now I have to start all over."

Robin smirked. He didn't mind. He liked feeling her touch his face, more than he cared to admit. If it took all day for her to paint on his disguise, he wouldn't complain one bit.

...

**(Note: Last night, I discovered The Tale of Robin Hood and Much the Miller's Son. In it, Robin really does plan to "rob" Much for a joke, and replace all his pennies with crowns to be kind, with disastrous results for him. When I read it, I thought it too splendid to pass up, so I added it to this story! Hope you enjoy!)**


	11. Chapter 11

Much set down his heavy load, deciding it wouldn't hurt if he took a short rest before completing his task delivering sacks of flour. After all, he'd delivered three already, and had only one more left. And it was such a bee buzzing sort of day, with the sun shining almost as warmly as it shone last summer and everything, and there would only be unpleasant work to do at the mill, if he hurried too quickly home. If only Robin were here, the day would be next to perfect!

But Much had seen Robin's mathematics tutor's horse outside Locksley Manor, which meant Robin would be cooped up indoors, working on his lessons in mathematics, whatever that was. All Much knew about mathe...whatever was, Robin always chewed his bottom lip and looked grim whenever he was due for a lesson in it. Loyally, Much hated mathe...whatever, too.

There was one good thing about it, however, Much decided. With Robin busy working away at it, there was no one here to stop Much from singing. And a day such as this called for a song.

Now, what to sing? There was that song about bewaring the witch in the woods...No. Much didn't want to sing that. It wouldn't do to summon Evil. Besides, Robin swore to him there wasn't anything to fear in Sherwood, especially not witches. And when Robin was near, Much didn't fear them. Not much, anyway.

But when Robin was away, well, that was a different matter. In spite of the warm sunshine, Much shivered.

Why had he thought of singing? Why? He hated this! First crossing himself, Much jumped to his feet, heaved the last sack of flour onto his back, looked quickly over both shoulders, and hastened away.

"I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid..." Much anxiously repeated under his breath, over and over, as he trudged along.

"I AM!" he shrieked, dropping the flour and his satchel when the bushes parted, releasing two bearded banshees running at full speed toward him, yelling, "Ambush!" at the top of their lungs.

Much was too frightened to run. His legs felt heavy as lead, and his feet frozen. He was sure he was beset upon by fey folk, for having thought of that terrible song. Besides, only fey folk could be that small and grow beards.

"This is an ambush!" the taller of the two announced, in a loud, proud tone.

"Arrrrrrr!" the smaller one added, just as loudly.

Much watched with wide, unblinking eyes as the taller one took the small one aside. "We're outlaws, not pirates! Try to get it right!"

"Get it right, yourself! Maybe my outlaw was a pirate first, who fell overboard and had to swim here. What do you say to that?"

"I say, good thinking! You're pretty amazing, do you know that? But let's get back to our raid."

The two returned, and Much was so frightened, he was speechless. He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping to ward off evil.

"Give us all your money!" the taller one commanded.

Much couldn't let them take the money he'd collected! His family needed that money! If he came home without it, they wouldn't be able to buy food, and they'd go hungry, and Much didn't want to go hungry! Hunger was not his friend, though he knew it well! He had to do something!

"What's this then?" the tall one asked, grabbing Much's satchel.

"No!" Much managed to squeak.

"And look at that sack," the little one added. "Arrrrr! Full o' jewels, I'm thinkin'!"

"Not jewels," Much objected. "It's only..."

His voice trailed off, as he untied the rope closing the top of the flour sack, to show them it was nothing but flour.

"You see," he explained, as the tall one strode forward.

"Let's take a look at them jewels," the tall one boasted, "for they're mine now!"

Without thinking, Much flung a fistful of flour right into the fey's face, and another into his partner's, temporarily blinding them. Then, he seized back his satchel, and used it to beat the outlaw leader over his head.

"Try to take my money, will you?" Much cried, angry now. "This will teach you, you toerag, not to steal from honest working folk!"

"Much, stop!"

Much froze when he realized the voice coming from the fey he was thrashing sounded just like Robin's.

"Stop!" Robin cried again. This time, Robin's laughter bubbled over behind the command.

"Robin?" Much asked, amazed. "Marian?"

"Who else?" Robin announced, then laughed again. "We fooled you, and you fooled us!"

"Wha-wha-wha...Why?" Much demanded, sputtering furiously. "You almost made me...well, I won't say. Unbelievable!" Much cried, indignant, and unable to think of anything else to say.

"We're sorry," Marian apologized, blinking flour out of her eyes. "You weren't too frightened, were you?"

"I was...was...unbelievable! Now you've made me spill the flour, and I'll be in trouble at home! And speaking of trouble! Marian, you're supposed to be banished to your room, and you! You're supposed to be at Locksley, learning!"

"Learning what?" Robin asked, casually replacing the pennies in Much's satchel with silver coins. Much, as Robin could tell, was too distracted to notice.

"Mathe...whatever!" Much responded, still shouting. "I saw your tutor's horse in front of your house."

"Oh, no," Robin groaned, wiping flour off his face. "I completely forgot he was coming today. Now, I guess we're all in trouble."

Robin rehanded Much his satchel, and Much began to calm down, until he noticed the expression change on Robin's face.

"Oh, no!" Much cried. "That look! I know that look! That look means trouble!"

"What is it?" Marian asked eagerly. She, too, was well acquainted with the look, but to her, it spelled adventure and excitement.

"I was just thinking," Robin said slyly, "seeing as how we're all three already in trouble..."


	12. Chapter 12

While Much delivered his last sack of flour, Robin and Marian visited the other three families who had paid pennies to have their grain ground at the mill, restoring their money to them. "There's a special on grinding grain today, courtesy of me!" Robin boasted.

Marian watched warily as Robin allowed himself to be hugged by his serfs, and even hugged them in return! She knew better. Her father was ingraining decorum into her head, teaching her how to be kind to those beneath her, while still maintaining the proper distance. She knew Robin was taught this as well, but chose to dismiss it.

"Why should I be cold to good people who show me honest affection?" he asked, when she reprimanded him.

She had asked her father a similar question, and gave Robin a similar answer. "Because one day you'll be their lord, and they need to treat you with respect."

"I plan to earn their respect," he answered, with a swagger. "Right now, I'll take their affection."

Marian didn't realize how hungry her friend was for affection. Since the death of his warm and loving mother, nearly four years ago, his father had retreated behind his grief, and grown distant.

Reuniting with Much, who was still unaware his satchel held silver, Robin led his friends into Sherwood Forest, careful to skirt around Locksley, lest his father's servants discover him and drag him home to his mathematics lesson.

The trio stopped their chatter when they came upon Friar Tuck, sleeping off a heavy dinner under a tree.

"He'll be in trouble, too, if he doesn't wake up," Marian worried. "Sext should be ringing soon, and he needs to lead prayer. If the abbot finds out... Should we wake him?"

"I have a better idea," Robin said, grinning. "Ever see a monk dance?"

"Dance?" Much exploded. "What do you mean, dance?"

Robin snickered, his face shining with fun.

"Robin...what are you planning?" Much was nervous. It went against God to play pranks on men of the cloth!

But Robin had no such qualms.

"The exercise will do him good," he grinned, springing into action.

Carefully lodging the end of a stick under the hem of the friar's cassock, Robin next trickled honey from a nearby beehive along it.

"What are you doing?" Much demanded anxiously, worried not only about angering God now, but also about Robin disturbing the bees.

Marian wasn't pleased, either. "Robin, ants will crawl right up his legs!"

Robin's eyes twinkled as he nodded his head. "Yes," he snickered. "That's the idea, Marian."

"But it's mean!"

"No, it's not," he defended, slightly worried at her suggestion. The last thing he wanted to be was mean. "It's fun!" he convinced himself. "Ants don't bite, but they do tickle! And everyone likes to be tickled!"

So saying, he threw himself on Marian and began tickling her. Marian collapsed onto the ground, laughing hysterically. "Stop! Stop!" she cried, delighted at the fun.

For the second time that day, Robin felt an overpowering urge to kiss her. Her eyelashes looked so dark and thick atop the creamy smoothness of her cheek, where roses seemed to bloom just beneath the surface. Being so close to her took his breath away! What was wrong with him? he wondered. Leaping to his feet, he jumped away, confused.

Tuck snored, and began to fidget as ants followed the trail of honey and ventured onto his ankles.

Much was wringing his hands and pacing. "As if we weren't in enough trouble already!" he fussed. "You couldn't stop at making our fathers mad, could you? Oh, no! Not you! You had to go and anger God!"

"We better hide," Robin advised. "Up this tree'll be the best place to watch the show!"

"Show? What show?" Much asked. "And God can see us in a tree, you know!"

"Shut up, Much," Marian scolded. "You'll wake the friar."

"I thought that was the whole idea!" Much complained. "Unbelievable!"

Robin loved it that Marian didn't need his help climbing trees. She still wore her rags and muddy beard, and he thought she looked adorable. He was certain he looked dashing in his painted on beard as well.

From the treetop, they watched as an army of ants climbed up Tuck's legs. Tuck awoke at last, squirmed about uncomfortably, then stood and began leaping about, flapping his cassock and swatting at the ants. Even believing he was unobserved, the strongest language out of his mouth was simply, "Oh! Oh! I know ants are also your creatures, Lord, but why did you have to make so many of them? And why did they have to chose me to torment today?"

Childish laughter coming from above made Tuck freeze for a moment, until the swarming ants made him leap about once more.

"Good dancing, Friar!" Robin couldn't resist calling down. "That should work off all the meat pies you ate!"

"You...you...you rapscallion!" Tuck cried. "You're behind this!"

"Me?" Robin asked innocently. "Now, Friar, how could I control the path of ants, up here in this tree?"

"I don't know, but I'll find out when your friend Much there sits across the confessional from me! If not before!"

Robin laughed, so infectiously Tuck couldn't help but laugh along. He'd managed to rid himself of most of the ants by this time, restoring his good humor.

The distant sound of church bells stopped his laughter. "Sext!" he cried. "I'm late!"

Lifting his skirts, Robin and Marian enjoyed yet another laugh as they watched him hurry away. Even Much forgot to be nervous and chortled to see him go.

"Well, I must say, he took that well," Much said, climbing carefully to the ground.

Robin didn't climb down. He stood on a branch and executed a perfect backflip, showing off for Marian.

Marian watched him, impressed, but not saying so. "Teach me!" she begged.

"I will, I promise, but not today. I think I saw the Prince and Princess that direction, and she was shooting! I want to give her some more advice first, before the Queen takes them home to Oxford. Come on!"

Marian glowered, but followed Robin, with Much tagging at their heels.


	13. Chapter 13

Robin slowed his steps and swaggered into the clearing, where Princess Joan, Prince John, and several attendants had gathered. Much and Marian, less pleased at facing the royals, lagged behind, hoping to be ignored.

But Marian stopped hiding when she noticed what Prince John was holding.

"The poor thing!" she cried, charging over to the prince to help the wounded pigeon he held in his hands.

"Yes, it's pathetic, isn't it?" Prince John said with a smile, stroking the bird's downy chest. "My sister there thinks she can shoot, after just one lesson! Tell them, Joan, what you were trying to hit."

Joan let out a sigh of frustration. "I was aiming for an apple on that tree. Instead, I clipped that bird's wings. Now, it's useless, and can't fly. I think shooting is harder than it looks."

Robin strode over to inspect the bird, moved by Marian's compassion. He felt sorry for the bird, too, and once he saw how badly it was hurt, knew there was no saving it. Not only had the princess clipped its wings, her arrow had put out one of its eyes.

"Much," Robin said, "take the bird home and give it to your mother. She can make it into a pie."

Much took a few steps forward, but was stopped by Prince John's objections.

"Not so fast!" the spoiled prince cried. "I haven't finished playing with it! I feel it will be amusing to watch what it does if I put its other eye out! Do you suppose it will walk around in circles? Won't that be droll?"

John unsheathed a jeweled dagger.

"You can't!" Marian cried out, tears spilling from her eyes.

Silence descended over the clearing.

"Can't?" John repeated, at last. "But, my dear dirty little girl, I can do anything I like! You've clearly forgotten who I am! Well then, allow me to remind you! I am Prince John, youngest of the royal line, but, and this is important, mind you, my lord father King Henry's favorite child! Now, I think it would amuse me to see what this bird will do, without any eyes. Do you suppose there will be much blood, when I begin to carve? Stand back, then, and let everyone watch!"

"John, you're a little beast," Princess Joan scolded, sounding bored.

Without warning, Robin grabbed the prince's wrist and squeezed, causing John to drop his dagger. With his other hand, he seized the bird and handed it to Marian.

"Try and nurse it back to health, if you must, but I don't think it'll make it to Knighton, Marian," he told her gently. "It might just be kinder to put it out of its misery."

Marian nodded her head, blinking back angry tears. She had never witnessed anyone so cruel as Prince John!

"Poor thing," she said again, cradling the bird.

Watching from a distance of several feet away, Much shifted back and forth on anxious feet. He couldn't believe Robin had the courage to openly defy Prince John, and yet, he was proud and happy he had. And, there would be pigeon pie for dinner! His mother always said to look for the good thing! He waited for Marian, then began walking with her back home to Locksley.

Robin stayed behind, feet firmly planted in a wide stance, arms folded over his chest. He knew he had broken the law by laying hands on the Prince, but he'd do it again, even if it meant punishment and disgrace. He regretted disgracing his family name over a bird, but he still felt in his heart, he'd done the right thing.

Boldly facing the prince, he said, "Sorry to ruin your fun, Your Highness, but that's not how we treat living creatures on my father's land. If you don't like it, I suggest you have your servants pack your bags, and go home."

Princess Joan stared at the boy with new found respect. She knew her mother the Queen adored him, as did her older brother Richard. Her brother Geoffrey was betrothed to his Aunt Constance, and due to live with her in Brittany. Her father the King went back and forth as to his feelings for Huntington's whelp, as he called him, sometimes adoring him, and other times detesting him. "Watch him when he's grown," he warned her eldest brother Henry. "He'll give you trouble, with his boldness, and that conscience of his! Keep him under your thumb, or he'll try to change the world!"

He was, Joan was thinking, a remarkably beautiful child. He looked positively lovely, telling off her beastly little brother. Perhaps, when he grew, he might not be such a bad match for her, after all.

John was still speechless, foaming at the mouth in his rage at having been touched by Robin of Locksley!

"Wipe your mouth, John," Princess Joan ordered. Taking Robin's arm, she bestowed a lovely smile on the boy and said, "Come along with me. I'll tell Mother everything. You don't need to fear."

"With all respect, Your Higness," Robin said politely, "I can look after myself. If you don't mind, I'd like to do the explaining."

Joan was impressed. "Very well," she agreed.


	14. Chapter 14

Three different households raising three different children, each of whom expected to be "in trouble," witnessed three unique outcomes to the day's events.

...

Marian returned to the grounds surrounding Knighton Hall, waited until the coast was clear, then darted into the house and up the stairs to her room before any of her father's servants had a chance to see her. Or so she believed.

The old cook Henrietta had spied her, but just shook her head and chuckled under her breath. "Out on an adventure with Master Robin, were you?" Henrietta muttered to herself as her strong hands kneeded dough. "The robin and the wren! Well, His Lordship the Sheriff can't keep you caged up any more than the birds who fly free in the forest! And right now, you're sure to be cleaning yourself up, so that you'll look fresh as a daisy when next anybody sees you. Good for you, Lassie! And it's certain I am you had a glorious time with your Robin!"

Marian was indeed washing off the forest grime, brushing her hair until it shone, and redressing herself in her gown. In very little time, no one who laid eyes on her would ever guess she had been anywhere but in her room, a most proper and pretty young lady.

But Marian was sad. The wounded pigeon had actually died in her hands, as she was carrying it to Locksley.

Being a child of her time, she'd witnessed Death before, in animals and in people. But she'd never held something that had died, right in her own two hands. She felt responsible somehow, as if she had failed the bird, and she was angry at the Princess for having so carelessly shot it.

Aiming for an apple, and she hit a bird? How ridiculous! That princess didn't deserve to hold a bow! She didn't deserve to hold anything, or anybody, related to a bow, either! She ought to just go home to whatever castle her royal family chose to live in, and stay away from this shire! And take that nasty, horrible Prince John with her!

The poor bird! It had seemed to grow colder in her hands, and stiller, and then, had just shuddered and died! It was horrible. When Marian had felt its life slip away, she simply stopped walking. At first, Much hadn't understood.

"What's wrong?" he'd asked. "Why are you stopping? You don't have a pebble in your boot, do you? Nasty things, pebbles. They're so small, yet they can hurt so much! I hate pebbles! I hate them! Do you need me to wait while you take off your boot? I can hold the bird, if you'd like."

"It's dead," Marian said, in a small voice.

"Dead? What do you mean, dead?"

"Dead," she repeated, choking back a sob.

Much shuddered. "Dead, in your hands? That is revolting! Well, not really revolting, after all, Marian. I mean, my mother was going to have to kill it anyway, and bake it into a pie, so you could look upon it as if you did my mother a favor, and saved her a step. I must say, some pigeon pie will be tasty, after some of the things I've eaten lately! Just think! Real meat! My mouth is watering! You wouldn't want to stay and have dinner with us, would you, Marian? I mean, it's not really a very big bird, and there are three of us already, and...are you alright? You don't look alright!"

"I'm fine. I'm just sad."

"Sad. Yes. Well, life's sad, Marian, so I've been told. That's why you have to look for the good in things. There's always something good! That's what my mother always says." A terrible thought struck Much. "I hope my father lets me eat some of the pie! I forgot, I'll be in trouble when I get home! Oh, dear! Oh, no! What should I do? I couldn't hide out at your house, by any chance, could I?"

"Sorry. But I have a feeling you won't be in trouble for long."

"Well, I hope you're right! And I hope you won't be, either. Don't feel bad about the bird, Marian. I really am hungry, you know, and we haven't been eating too well lately."

"Tell Robin! He'll help you!"

"I can't. He does so much already."

Remembering the silver in Much's satchel, Marian smiled through her tears. "I think you'll be eating well for a long time, Much," she told him. "I guess we'd better take the bird to your mother now."

"I'll take it. You hurry home. Good luck with your father."

Safely back in her room, clean and fresh again, Marian didn't care anymore that she was in trouble. She couldn't shake off her sorrow over feeling the poor little animal die in her hands.

She could hear her father's footsteps on the stairs, and prepared herself to face him. But the moment she saw his face, after he opened her door, she burst into tears.

Sir Edward's heart melted. Taking her upon his lap, he held her close and soothed her. "I see you're sorry for what you did. Well, no more punishment for you, Marian. You are free to come and go as you please. But you mustn't touch a royal personage, no matter what they may say or do. By all means, you must remember your station. Now, come to dinner. If my nose serves me, I believe Henrietta has made pigeon pie."

At that, Marian broke out into fresh tears.

...

At the small cottage adjoining the mill, Much anxiously sought his mother, and placed the dead pigeon in her hands.

Much made a face as he wiped his hands on the legs of his trousers. "Yuck!" he drawled out. "I hate dead things!"

"What's this then? You been shooting birds with Master Robin?" his mother asked.

"No. Not me. The princess. Well, she wasn't meaning to shoot birds! She meant to shoot apples! But this is what she hit, and well, here you are. Robin said we should have pigeon pie."

"Pigeon pie! I could stand for a bit of meat! You go wash your hands, then go see your father. Did you bring home the pennies for the flour?"

"They're in my satchel. At least, I hope they are. I'm pretty sure Robin or Marian put them back, after they stole them from me. I hope so!"

"What are you blathering about? Ah, just leave it. When your father comes in, he can count it."

The miller's voice from the doorway replied, "I'll count it now. For all the time it took you collecting it, there ought to be more than pennies in that bag!"

The miller was only joking, but when he opened the satchel and viewed the money, his jaw dropped open.

"Where did you...? Where did all this come from?" he asked, amazed.

Much grew nervous. Had he not collected enough? Or worse still, had some of the pennies dropped out, when he'd been up in the tree, hiding from Friar Tuck? It was God's punishment on him, surely, for mocking a friar! He knew it! He knew God wouldn't let Robin's act go unpunished!

But Much's father was smiling now, smiling in a way Much seldom witnessed.

"You're the best son a man could ever have!" he cried out, lifting Much onto his shoulders.

"What's our boy done?" the miller's wife asked.

"He's lived up to his name! He's brought home 'much!' Much more than we were expecting! Take a look, goodwife, at all this silver!"

Much's eyes bulged at the glittering coins. He'd had no idea how it had gotten there! It must have been fairies in the forest who changed his pennies into silver coins, or else...

Much wondered. Hmm...there was only one boy he knew who could seem to work fairy magic! He laughed out loud, as he and his parents celebrated their amazing good fortune.

...

At Locksley, the boy who could work fairy magic needed some of it now for himself. But things weren't going so well for young Robin of Locksley.


	15. Chapter 15

Princess Johanna, or "Joan" to her intimates and family, carefully studied the boy who rode alongside her, as they made their way toward Nottingham, to speak with the Queen.

He certainly sat a horse well, Joan evaluated approvingly. In fact, he looked older astride a horse, just as he'd seemed to gain stature and maturity when he'd fired his bow. And he was a charming conversationalist, courteously brushing his own troubles aside to graciously amuse her with stories about the shire, as well as being a good listener.

And those eyes of his! Expressive, and blue as the sky over Aquitaine! Not to mention his straight, proud nose, nor the dimple in his chin! And his smile! If only he were a few years older!

At thirteen, Joan felt she'd already left childhood behind, and Robin of Locksley was still just a boy! Well, she wouldn't waste her time disrupting her pleasant pursuits to worry about her parents' feuds over whom she should marry! When she returned to Oxford, she'd resume her flirtation with the seventeen-year-old Earl of Leicester, and watch how lovely little Robin would grow, each time his lord father brought him to Court. Still, she felt this visit to Nottingham had somehow dampened Leicester's charms, though she couldn't explain why.

As for Robin, he wasn't so concerned for his potential troubles for having squeezed Prince John's wrist as he was about Marian's tears. Once he'd faced the queen, and his father, he was determined to hurry to Knighton, to see how Marian was feeling.

"You ride well," Princess Joan complimented him. "We left John far behind."

"Good. That should give me a chance to present my side of the story to Her Majesty, before the Prince complains of what I did to him."

"I'm sure Mother will be lenient, even though we Plantagenets are fiercely loyal to each other."

"Are you?" Robin wondered aloud, wondering how she could claim that, when the "Devil's Brood" were known to fight amongst themselves.

"It's true," she attested. "And John's the baby, understand, so he gets away with murder. But you're nearly one of the family, we like you so well, so I expect Mother will simply scold you fondly and let it go."

"I hope so," Robin said, dismounting with such grace Joan couldn't help but notice.

"Is there anything you can't do well?" she asked him, sliding down from her own horse.

Robin stiffled a groan. "Mathematics," he grimly admitted, wondering why every other subject came easy to him, but he couldn't stop the numbers from flip flopping in his head.

...

As the princess had predicted, Queen Eleanor was forgiving, letting Robin off with no more than a scolding. Robin only hoped his father would prove so lenient today, for having forgotten his math lesson.

Will Stutley, Master Bowman of Locksley, was the first to spy young Master Robin when he returned home.

Will was an old man, in Robin's eyes, just passing fifty, but he was known to be the finest archer in the shire, and Robin looked up to him for it. The gruff older servant of his father's was as fond of Robin as any of the people of Locksley, and privately considered it his special pride to have taught the lad to shoot. And only recently, the boy had surpassed his own skill with a bow, though it would never do for Will to admit it.

There were only two people with no rank in all of England who considered it their right to upbraid young Master Robin, though they did it from affection. One was the midwife Matilda, who had birthed him. The other was Will Stutely.

"You're in trouble now, and no mistake," he told the boy, sitting on a bench outside Locksley Manor. "Did you not know that fancy tutor of yours was coming today?"

"I knew it," Robin admitted. "I just forgot."

Will stood and cuffed him on the head. "Better not let me catch you forgettin' one of my lessons!"

Robin's face registered surprise. "Stute! I never would! I swear it!"

Will sank back down onto the bench and stretched out his long, bandy legs. "No, you wouldn't! But you missed the thing you most need help on, which is worse. You insulted Master Fancy Pants, and disgraced His Lordship! I hope your father takes a strap to you."

"My father's never struck me," Robin said proudly.

"Maybe he should! Aw, go along with you! And wash your face first. You look a disgrace! What did you spread on your cheeks, anyway? The entire riverbottom?"

"It's a beard," Robin explained.

Will hooted. "Wash it off before I mistake you for a ferret, and shoot an arrow through you! Then, get inside and face His Lordship! He's in his study, waiting for you."

Robin cringed, then squared his shoulders and hurried to the well, to wash his face before venturing inside to face his father.


	16. Chapter 16

Robin knocked on the door to his father's study and waited. Hearing no response, he carefully pulled open the door.

His father was seated at his desk, bent over his heavy ledger accounts.

"Sir?" Robin spoke. "You wanted to see me?"

"Robert!"

The earl looked up from his books at the figure of his son, framed in the doorway. "Come in," he ordered crisply. "Close the door behind you."

"Yes, sir."

Robin did as he was told, and approached his father's desk. Lord Malcolm put down his quill pen, but remained seated.

"I hope you have a good explanation for why you missed your mathematics lesson today," he began sternly.

"No, Sir," Robin confessed. "I just forgot. I'm truly sorry."

Lord Locksley frowned. "Sorry isn't good enough, young man! Master Pieter went to a great deal of trouble coming here to teach you! And by your absence, you insulted him! You took no thought of his time, his efforts, nor his abilities!"

"I meant no disrespect, Father. I'll write him my apologies, and work doubly hard at my lesson, I promise."

"Yes, you will. Starting now." The earl rose, and indicated he wanted Robin to sit in his chair. Robin obeyed.

"Now," Lord Malcolm began, "look at the columns of numbers in these ledgers. They represent rents owed and rents paid on our properties. You may begin by adding those figures."

Robin's eyes grew wide at the long columns of numbers. "All of them?" he asked, unhappily.

"Yes, all of them. It shouldn't prove too difficult. It's only addition."

"But I struggle with addition! I don't know why. I just do."

"Then you must spend more time adding, until you master it." Lord Locksley sighed. "Master Pieter tells me you grasp complicated mathematical concepts that should be way over your head, with little trouble. He gives me glowing reports of your work in astronomy. But he despairs of your lack of ability to perform simple sums. Therefore, you must practice! Do you think you'd be half the archer you are, if you never practiced with your bow?"

"No, Sir, but numbers! Of course I can add! It's just, somehow, when I look at them, they get all mixed up, like they're swimming."

"Swimming? That's ridiculous. You only need to apply yourself, and then, you won't have this problem any more. Get to work. And, Robert, once you have finished, you will write that letter of apology to Master Pieter, and bring it to me to read. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"And what's more, you will compensate him for his lost time today."

Robin looked up from the ledgers. "Compensate him? How?"

"You will pay him, of course."

"Pay him? With money?"

"Yes, with money! When you are finished here, you will bring me the purse of silver Her Majesty so graciously gave to you on your birthday."

Robin breathed out a long drawn out breath. "I'm afraid that's impossible, Sir," he told his father.

Lord Malcolm raised his eyebrows. What now? With this boy, there was no telling!

"Impossible?" he repeated. "Why do you say that?"

Robin blurted out the truth, knowing his words would earn his father's disapproval. "Because, Sir, I gave the money away."

"Away?"

Lord Locksley was indignant. For awhile, he could not speak. When at last he found his tongue, he scolded, "Do you mean to tell me, a gift from Her Majesty means so little to you, that you'd toss it away, the very next day after you received it? Speak! Answer me, young man!"

"I thanked the Queen for her kindness! But she gave it to me, to do with as I pleased! And I didn't toss it away, Sir! I exchanged it for something else!"

"What?" Lord Malcolm barked. "Beeswax for your bowstring? Fish hooks? What?"

"No, Sir, nothing so ordinary! I exchanged the silver for pennies!"

Lord Malcolm did not think he'd heard his son correctly. "Pennies?" he gasped. "Robert, you are not a simpleton! What are you saying to me? That you traded silver coins for pennies? That makes no sense at all!" He began to pace. "That's it!" he cried. "You've been spending too much time with the miller's son! That boy's idiocity has rubbed off on you!"

"Much is no idiot!" Robin objected, jumping to his feet. "And I won't hear him called so, not even by you, Father!"

"You do not raise your voice to me, young man! That's it! I'm taking away your bow, for a week, until you learn respect!"

"Don't take my bow! Please, Father! I'll clean out the stables, or pull turnips, or, anything! But don't take my bow!"

"You do not bargain with me! Would you like to make it two weeks?"

"No, Father."

"Get to work. I'll be back in an hour, and you had better have those figures tallied correctly by then. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Goodbye, Robert. Perhaps, when we've both calmed down, you can explain to me why you saw fit to trade Her Majesty's purse for pennies."

"Yes, Father."

Lord Locksley hesitated, watching his son's head bend over his books. Robin didn't see him reach out his hand to tenderly stroke the top of his head, and he didn't feel the touch, either, for at the last moment, his father pulled back his hand without having touched him.

All Robin heard was the heavy oaken door closing, locking him in, alone with row upon row of swimming numbers.


	17. Chapter 17

"Saint Peter, help us! Look at the little scholar!"

"Go away, Stute."

Robin spoke without lifting his face from his father's ledger books, refusing to look toward the open window, where Will Stutely, Master Bowman of Locksley, lounged outside, smiling lazily as he peeled an apple with his knife.

A few moments before, Will had stood protectively just outside the window, purposely overhearing Robin's interview with his father, and his heart bled for the boy. But his gruff exterior gave no clue of his real feelings.

"See what you've done now?" he scolded. "If you hadn't run off when you shoulda been home, you'd be done with numbers today, His Lordship would be pleased with you, and you and me could be outdoors, aimin' for my new targets."

The mention of new targets captured Robin's attention, drawing it away from his work.

"What new targets, Will?" he asked, with interest.

Will held up a small cloth purse, tied by a drawstring around its top. "Take a look at this, if you please," he said, proudly.

Robin jumped up from his father's chair and ran to the window. Will dangled the purse by a string, back and forth before Robin's fascinated gaze, smiling his nearly toothless grin.

Glamor clung to Will, in Robin's boyish mind. Not only was he the finest shot in the shire, he'd been a Crusader, a footsoldier and archer for King Henry in the Holy Land. Even his toothless gums spelled adventure to the noble boy, since Will had lost his teeth to the Saracens, who had extracted them one by one while holding him prisoner, marking the days of his captivity. Once all his teeth would be gone, the Saracens planned to slice off his head, and Will Stutely knew it, having seen it happen to several of his compatriots.

But Will refused to die without a fight. Robin loved to listen, spellbound, to Will's tale of how he'd escaped, tricking his captors by drawing lewd pictures with his finger in the sand, until one Saracen handed him a knife, to better sketch the images they loved to gape at. "Once I had that weapon, I didn't hesitate to use it! You gotta use your head, as well as your muscles, going against your enemy," Will frequently counselled the boy.

"What's inside it?" Robin asked eagerly now, staring at the small bag Will dangled temptingly before his eyes.

Will chuckled. "Flour's in this one. When you hit it, think of the explosion! But you can fill 'em with whatever you like."

"Feathers," Robin said dreamily, his eyes shining. "On a windy day, it'd be near impossible to hit a bag stuffed with feathers!"

"You like a challenge, do you?" Will asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You know I do, Will," Robin bragged.

Will cuffed him lightly on the side of his head. "Then get back to work! Them figures in them books are the only challenge you'll be facing, for a whole week, if my ears didn't deceive me!"

"Aw, Stute," Robin pleaded, appealingly, "come on! Tie that flour sack to a branch, and let me watch you hit it!"

"No, I won't. Not till you're done doin' what His Lordship told you to do, if even then! I might just wait a week before I have a go, just so we can make it a competition! And I like your idea about the feathers, too. First breezy day you get your bow back, it's a go! You and me, man to man, shootin' feather sacks offa tree limbs! You like that idea, lad?"

"On yard long strings, so they'll blow about more. You'd better start practicing now, Will, because I intend to beat you!"

"Ha! No, I won't do it. Wouldn't be a fair competition. Tell you what. I won't lay a hand on my bow, till you get yours back, alright?"

Robin put out his hand. Will grasped it in his own gnarled one, and shook. "There. That seals it, Cock Robin. You hungry?"

"Are you?"

"Not for food, but I could go for somethin' you know nothin' about."

"The Widow Tannerson again, Will? Why won't you marry her?"

"What do you know about that?"

"I've seen you leave her cottage, before the birds are up."

"And what're you doin' up so early?"

"Practicing," Robin grinned proudly back. "I want to be as good an archer as you someday!"

Will felt a flush of pride rush through him, and a warmth of affection for the boy. The lad didn't know he'd already surpassed his teacher's skill, and Will wanted to guard that knowledge carefully. And there was something else he realized he needed to guard as well.

He needed to be more careful in his comings and goings with the Widow. Lockley's son looked up to him, and he needed to set a fine example for the lad.

"If you're hungry, here," he said, tossing Robin his apple. "And before I go, I'll have a word with Mary in the kitchens. See if she can sneak you in a meat pie. You need nourishment, if you're gonna be shut up here all day cipherin'."

"Thank you. I'll get the figures done, Will. Like you said, I like a challenge."

"Yeah. Well, next time Master Fancy Pants Tutor comes huffin' and puffin' up on his horse, you make sure you're here to greet him."

"I'll try to remember."

"You'll do better than that. You'll _be_ here, and what's more, you'll be respectful. No more tossin' acorns into his open, gapin' mouth, when he falls asleep, snorin'. You got it?"

"Got it. It was only that one time."

"Yeah, 'cause he woke up hollerin', threatenin' to dunk you in the pond!"

"He'd never do it. He'd have to catch me first."

Will chuckled. "Get back to work. I'll talk to Mary about the pie. The sooner you finish, the sooner you can play."

"Thank you again, Will," Robin said. "You're a true friend."

Will Stutely only growled, hiding the pleasure he felt from Robin's words. Like everyone else in Locksley, he loved the lad with his whole heart, and would do anything for him, even die, if the need arose.


	18. Chapter 18

A full week without use of his bow dragged slowly by, seeming longer by years than it was. But it came to an end at last, and Robin was surprised to find Thornton, rather than his father, handing him back his bow.

"Thank you," the boy politely told Locksley's reeve and steward. "But does my father know you're giving it to me? I expected him to call me into his study and make certain I'd learned my lesson first."

Thornton's face was guarded as he answered. "The master asked me to deliver it to you. He is occupied with matters of importance, but wants to see you later this morning."

"I won't go far then," Robin said with a grin, quickly testing his bowstring. "I just need a few rounds of practice before I take on Will Stutely! Tell everybody I'm inviting them to come watch the competition, noon today, right here in the yard. Goodbye!"

And young Master Robin was off, out the door, bow in hand, quiver holding down his short cape from flying out behind him.

He almost ran back into the house, when he realized he wanted feathers to put in the small cloths he was planning to shoot, but decided there wasn't time. Better just to fill them with dirt first, to get the feel of it. He could get feathers from Ed and Bertha in the village, with all the chickens they raised.

Robin made quick work of digging dirt with his knife, loosening it to dust, and packing it in two small cloth pouches. He felt a thrill of excitement as he tied the pouches to a low hanging branch of an oak, pleased at how the autumn breeze stirred them as they dangled, then ran fifty paces away, for his first practice shot. It was pretty close range, but he'd increase the distance, once he got the feel for the thing.

The wind was tricky, he noted, dropping and then picking up again, and he took his time, taking it into account. When he finally did let loose his arrow, his face broke into a triumphant smile, for he'd hit both bags hanging side by side, bursting both to create little puffs of dust clouds.

He was just about to try it a second time, when he saw someone who made him catch his breath and drop to the ground, so he could watch her unobserved from the tall grass that hid him.

Marian was walking, alone, through the trees, probably looking for him! She looked very pretty, wearing a new blue green gown with a matching cap on her dark head, decorated all over, like the bodice of her gown, with little seed pearls. Robin watched her looking for him, forgetting all about his targets for a time. He felt happy, and he couldn't take his eyes off her, until he wondered, "Why am I hiding?"

His smile transformed to a wicked grin, and he pulled forth an arrow and carefully aimed, so that it landed a few steps just in front of Marian's feet.

"Robin!" she shouted, angrily. "You come out!"

Smug and pleased at having startled her, Robin jumped to his feet and raced down the hill, joining Marian under the trees.

"Don't you ever shoot at me, do you hear?" she demanded.

"What's this?" he asked, unable to stop smiling and reaching for her cap. She swatted his hand away. "You're dressed awfully fine, just to come see me," he teased.

"I had to wear it, my father made me, and we're not here to see you, but your father."

"So you were just wandering about outside my house, looking for my father? After all, he spends so much time outdoors."

Marian shivered, as the wind turned gusty. Immediately, Robin removed his quiver and his cape, placing the latter around her small shoulders.

"You shouldn't be out without your wrap, Wren," he said, kind and protective now. "I don't care how pretty you look in your new dress."

Marian appreciated the compliment, and his courteous gesture. Her anger disappeared, and she smiled and said, "You got your bow back!"

"This morning!" Robin announced. "I just started practicing, when I saw you. Watch this!"

Robin had come prepared, with a stack of small cloth squares. Dropping to his knees, he quickly dug more dirt, placed it on the clohes, gathered and tied their tops, leaving long strings from which to hang them from branches. "See how the wind makes them swing?" he asked. "Makes them all that much harder to hit."

"Show me," Marian said.

Their eyes met in a feeling of mutual admiration, and a warm rush of affection coursed through them both. Robin knew Marian would want to practice hitting the targets, too, and that it wouldn't come so easy for her, but that she'd continue trying, even after her fingers grew bloody from the bowstring. He loved her determination, so like his own, but first, he wanted to show off for her, and make her admire his skill.

From fifty paces, Robin took his time judging the wind, then loosed his arrow. Something went wrong. It was a good shot, but not so good as his first one. He'd hit one bag, but the other still hung from the tree, untouched.

Marian's eyes were shining, thrilled by the small explosion of dirt that had come from the first bag.

"Let me try!" she called out, warm in Robin's cloak.

Robin, unsatisfied, ran and examined the arrow he'd just shot. It looked alright, so he couldn't blame it for what he considered his failure. "My turn?" Marian asked, dropping to her knees and beginning to dig up dirt with her hands.

"No, not yet," Robin said, thoughtfully. "I shouldn't have missed."

"Robin, you didn't miss! You hit it! Dirt puffed out, exploded! It was wonderful."

"I missed, Marian," he said, almost tragically. "I should have hit both bags. I can't understand it."

"How many times have you done this?" Marian asked, trying to make him see reason.

"That was the second time."

"So, you're just learning?"

"Yes. But still, I should have hit both!"

"Then do it now."

Robin dropped down beside her and lifted one of her now dirty hands, examining it critically. "We better scrub you clean again before your father sees you," he said, smiling.

His knife worked much faster at digging, and very soon, Robin was aiming to hit two bags with a single arrow. He desperately wanted to impress Marian.

This time, his arrow sailed past both bags, hitting neither.

Robin stood still, his mouth agape, unable to comprehend that he had missed.

Marian hurried comfortingly to his side. "It's alright," she said, soothingly. "The wind picked up again."

"No," Robin said, his voice sounding hollow. "I should have hit them, Marian! I wanted to hit them, for you!"

"For me?" She drew in a pleased little gasp of air, then pushed her pleasure aside. "Perhaps that's why you missed," she realized. "Perhaps you were thinking of me too much. Forget I'm here. Remember what Will taught you. What is it he says? 'Never shoot for glory...' "

" 'Never shoot for glory, or for someone else's eyes, but shoot for the beauty of it alone. Be one with your bow,' " Robin repeated the Master of the Bow's words.

"Try one more time, and put me out of your mind," Marian told him.

Robin did just as Marian advised, conquering his thoughts to dwell on nothing but the wind, his targets, and his bow. He felt transported, removed from the world, with nothing between his arrow and its targets. Firing it, he knew it would fly true, and he watched it soar through the air and strike both bags, creating two separate, thrilling dust clouds.

"Thank you, Marian," Robin told her, sincerely. "It's your turn now."

But Marian's turn would have to wait, for Lord Locksley had summoned Thornton to locate the children and bring them into the manor. Malcolm of Locksley had an important announcement to make, and wanted his heir present to hear it.


	19. Chapter 19

As Thornton led Robin and Marian back to Locksley Manor, the children were surprised to note the entire village of Locksley assembling before Robin's house to hear Lord Malcolm's announcement.

Robin waved to Much, then caught up to Will Stutely and showed him his bow.

"Let's hold our contest right after my father's speech," Robin told him. "Everybody's already here to watch."

"We'll see," the bowman gruffly replied, not sharing the boy's lack of concern over what the lord of the manor might have to say. Because he was worried, he scolded, "Where's your cape? Thought you had sense enough to know when it's cold!"

"I gave it to Marian to wear," Robin explained. "She was shivering."

Will looked at the small girl wrapped in Robin's cape, who was already joining her father beside Lord Locksley.

"Get!" Will barked. "Can't you see, everybody's waitin' for you?"

Everyone was indeed waiting for him, which suited Robin fine. He picked up his feet and ran, then slowed his steps to take his place with easy dignity by his father's side, enjoying the attention of the crowd.

Meeting his father's eyes, Robin couldn't read what dwelt behind them. There was no trace of the sterness he expected to find there, for making people wait. Instead, there seemed to be a wistful longing, a touch of regret, almost a pleading apology. Robin gripped his bow tighter.

Lord Malcolm turned his face to the crowd assembled before him. "Good people of Locksley," he began, lifting his voice. "It has been my God given privilege to serve you as your lord for many years, and I pray I have always been a just and fair master over you."

"You have, Your Lordship!" a voice in the crowd called back, followed by a resounding chorus of "Ayes!"

Lord Malcolm smiled, somewhat sadly. "And now," he continued, "I have been called by His Majesty King Henry, to serve him, across the waters in Ireland."

"Ireland?" The question was repeated in hushed voices throughout the crowd, as everyone, Robin included, tried to process the news.

"As some of you may know," Lord Locksley resumed, "some years ago, our gracious king helped free the Irish from invading Normans. In return, the High King of Ireland, Rory O'Connor, swore fealty to King Henry, thus becoming his vassal. Unfortunately, Norman invaders have returned, and war has broken out again on the Emerald Island. His Majesty has requested that I join him in helping to keep Ireland in Irish hands."

A thrill shot through Robin. His father was going to fight alongside the King! He felt proud, and only wished he were older so he could go, too. His archery competition with Will was forgotten in his visions of glory.

"While I am away," Lord Malcolm continued, "I leave you in the capable care of Lord Knighton, Sheriff of Nottingham. Although he will not be residing here, he will look in on you from time to time and handle any disputes that might arise between you. Of course, Thornton will continue to oversee the manor, and I ask you to continue on with your daily lives, as though I were still among you. I also ask for your prayers for myself, and for my son while I am away."

Marian felt a surge of fear at hearing those words. Robin wasn't going to Ireland, too, was he? She couldn't wait for the speech to finish, so that she could learn for certain.

To her relief, Lord Malcolm concluded by saying, "Good people, I leave you in two day's time. There is much to do before I go, but for the next two nights, we feast together."

So saying, he turned and walked inside his manor house, followed by Robin, Marian and her father, and all the household servants.

...

"Did you hear him, Marian?" Robin whispered excitedly, as the two small families filed into Lord Locksley's study, for a private meeting together. "He's going to fight for the King!"

"Are you going, or staying?" Marian wanted urgently to know.

"I think I'm staying. Why? Do you think he might take me with him?"

"You want to go?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Marian almost tore Robin's cape from her shoulders and flung it at him.

"Marian?" Robin cried, confused by her anger.

The children had to end their conversation before it turned into a full blown argument, for Thornton had closed the door, leaving the four nobles alone together.

...

**(Note: I recently discovered old stories explaining how Robin's father died, and preferred their details to the outrage presented in the Blood Brothers episode of Series 3. In some written legends, Robin's father dies in battle in King Henry II's Irish campaign, leaving Robin an orphan at age 12. My stories have always said he became an orphan at 10, so I am sticking with that age. I did some quick research and learned that King Henry fought in Ireland much earlier than when this story takes place, but then I was happy to learn that he returned there in 1177, which is only off by one year from my adventure! The name I gave the Irish King is historically accurate, as are the events why King Henry returned to fight there. I decided to keep the name "Malcolm" for Robin's father, since it would have been a family name. The first Earl of Huntington was born in 1031, and his name was Malcolm.)**


	20. Chapter 20

Enclosed in the privacy of his study, Lord Malcolm turned his kind, steady gaze on his son and said, "Now, Robin, do you have any questions for myself or Lord Knighton, concerning the time I will be away?"

"Yes, Father, I do," Robin answered, his eyes filled with hope. "Am I to go with you to Ireland?"

Marian held her breath, waiting for Lord Locksley's answer, willing him to say, "No." Then, for good measure, she crossed her fingers, being careful to hide them in the folds of her gown so no one would see.

The Earl's response made her breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

"No, Robin, you are not," Lord Locksley stated. "You are to stay here, and continue your education."

"But I could learn in Ireland! I could learn about battle!"

"There will be no discussion on the matter. You are staying here."

Robin's expectant face fell. "Yes, sir," he agreed, dejectedly.

Surprisingly, Robin's father stepped forward and put his arms around his son. Robin gave a quick gasp, then snuggled closer into his father's unaccustomed embrace.

"Your time to learn of war and battle will come all too soon," Lord Malcolm said with a sigh, lightly stroking the boy's sandy colored hair. "For now, consider yourself lucky to shoot at targets, and not your fellow man."

"Not to mention apples," Lord Knighton added, lightening the mood. "My orchard isn't safe with you around, young man."

Marian's heart felt light, now that she knew Robin was staying home. And even though she had not been addressed, and was continually being lectured that girls must never speak unless invited to do so, her pretty voice piped, "Excuse me, my lord. I have a question."

"Forgive my daughter," Sir Edward hastily explained, embarrassed. "She speaks when she should be quiet."

"No, no. It's quite alright," Lord Locksley assured him, releasing Robin and smiling gently down at Marian. "What is it, child?"

Marian felt uncomfortable with all eyes looking at her, until she saw Robin's twinkling with amusement. What did he find so funny, she wondered. That she had a question, too? What could be funny about that? She'd make him tell her, later.

"I was only wondering, my lord," she began politely, throwing Robin a glare that only made his grin widen, "whether you want to go, or if you have to."

Robin's face lost its smug, amused expression. Like the others in the chamber, he was impressed by the thoughtfulness of her question. It came from an unselfish, deep thinking mind, so different from any other girls he knew. He looked at Marian in near wonderment.

"Well," Lord Locksley stated, once he had recovered from his surprise. "That is a very good question, Marian, but not a simple one to answer. His Majesty the King summoned me to fight alongside him. I have the option to refuse, but would never think to do so. I do not wish to fight, but I must, but not because the King demands it. It is simply that, a man must fight for his King."

Marian tried to understand, but couldn't quite. She decided she would talk it over with Robin later.

She was glad of one thing, however. If the King called her father, he, too, would have the option not to go. She didn't want her father going off to war and leaving her.

"Well," Lord Locksley announced, "since you don't seem to have any more questions at this time, why don't you children run along and play?"

"We don't have to leave yet?" Marian asked her father, delighted.

"We're staying for the feast tonight," Sir Edward told her, causing Robin and Marian to break into smiles. "But if you go outdoors, young lady," he continued firmly, "you must wear your own cloak. Robin has seen your new dress, and he needs his own cape. Alright?"

Marian nodded, then turned shining eyes on Robin.

He was grinning joyfully back at her, delighted too by the prospect of spending time in her company all day, into the evening.

Suddenly, he remembered his scheduled archery contest against Will Stutely.

Bidding their fathers goodbye, the children clasped hands and went off to seek the master bowman.


	21. Chapter 21

On their way to find Will Stutely, Robin surprised Marian by suddenly asking, "May I ask you a question? It's personal."

"You may ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer," she replied, her defenses taking hold at the word "personal."

Although serfs from Robin's village were all around them, the children felt as if they were all alone together, for they saw no one but each other. Robin cautiously lifted a finger and lightly touched a spot on the left side of Marian's face.

"What is this?" he asked, almost reverently.

Marian broke into a smile. "That's my ear," she told him, as though it were obvious.

"No, not your ear. This. This spot by your ear. It sparkles, like a teardrop, or a diamond."

Marian knew what he was referring to. She'd seen it before, in her mirror.

"It's nothing," she said, defensively. "Just something I was born with, like a mole."

She looked away, embarrassed and slightly angry. She didn't like people staring at her flaws. Especially not _him._

But then, he said something that made her look straight back at him.

"My...my mother once told me it shows where an angel kissed you," Robin told her, somewhat hesitantly. "I'm not an angel, but..."

"My mother's an angel," Marian interrupted, very moved by Robin's words. "Maybe she kissed me before she flew up to Heaven."

"Maybe she did."

Robin watched Marian smile as she touched the tiny spot by her ear, no longer hating it as a flaw, but accepting it as something special. He was glad he'd made her smile, and feel good about the tiny spot on her skin he'd always found so unusual and attractive. But he wouldn't try to ask to kiss her again, not for several years more.

"Do you...do you miss your mother?" Robin asked gently now, missing his own very much.

Marian thought hard before she answered. "I suppose so. I never knew her. My father's so kind to me, I don't really think about it much. You...you miss yours, though, don't you?"

"Come on," Robin said brusquely. "Let's find Stute."

It wouldn't do to let her see his "weakness." He wanted to be strong for her, and refused to let her see him hurt. But Marian wasn't ready to end the conversation, not yet.

"I'm surprised you talked with your mother about me," she told Robin, running to keep up with his longer strides. "I mean, about my face."

He didn't answer at first, feeling small and exposed by talk of his mother. But he hid his vulnerability by answering with a wink and a grin, "Well, your face is something to talk about, alright!"

Marian felt annoyed. She wasn't sure whether he'd meant that as an insult, or a compliment. And why did he have to go ruin such a wonderful, deep conversation, by turning all smug and flippant? He really was the most exasperating boy she knew!

Arriving at last outside Will Stutely's cottage, Robin rapped his knuckles on the door and called, "Stute! It's me, Robin! May Marian and I come in? It's time for our archery competition."

Will Stutley didn't invite them in. Instead, he stepped outside to talk with the children.

"Well, look who's concerned about time, for once! What happened? It'll be raining cats and dogs next!"

"I'm just eager to beat you, is all," Robin explained, with a swagger.

"Well, you'll have to wait. Get along with you! I'm busy."

"Busy? Too busy to shoot? I don't think so."

"You don't know anything! Now, get!"

If Will Stutely was overly gruff with Robin today, it was because he was already missing the lad, for he was planning to accompany Lord Locksley to Ireland.

"You promised, Will! You promised we'd shoot, as soon as I got my bow back!"

Now that war had been announced, Will Stutely had no desire to shoot against a mere lad, and be bested. It wouldn't do for his confidence on the battlefield. He knew, from his previous experience at war, that his best chance for survival was to feel invincible, unconquerable. And he wouldn't feel that way if his last memory of home was being defeated by a boy whose head only came up to his chest.

"Promises give way, when war's afoot," Will explained, hating the fallen expression on Robin's face. "War's everything, Cock Robin, and don't you forget it! Nothing else matters, when your king calls you to fight! Not you, and not your promises. Your weapons, they're what matters! And now, I gotta go attend to mine."

"But, Will! You're not going to war!"

"Like hell, I'm not! Oh, sorry, Miss. But I am. I'm goin' with your father. Didn't think I'd let him go without the finest shot in the north of England goin' too, did you? Somebody has to be there to narrow the numbers of the men what want your Da dead. Now, get!"

So saying, Will strode back into his cottage and slammed the door shut.

Robin stood still, trying to process what he'd just heard.

Marian, seeing the hurt look on Robin's face, wanted to help him feel better. "Don't be sad," she told him. "I'll shoot against you, Robin."

Robin smiled down at her, touched and amused by her offer. "You're a good shot," he told her approvingly, "but it wouldn't be a fair competition, not until you get in some practice first. Let's just forget it, alright? Stute and I can have our competition when he returns."

"How long does war last?" Marian asked, taking hold of Robin's hand as they made their way back toward his house.

"I don't know. Not long, I think. Not with my father and King Henry leading the charge. I expect they'll be home in a matter of weeks."


	22. Chapter 22

The temperate days of October soon gave way to bitter November winds, and grey, cheerless skies. But Robin didn't mind the weather. Although he missed his father and Will Stutely, he took vast pleasure in Marian's frequent visits to his estates, for Nottingham's sheriff always brought his young daughter with him whenever he checked up on Lord Locksley's heir and lands.

One damp chilly day, Robin and Marian were busy playing Hide and Go Seek with several other children from the village. It was Marian's turn to hide, and so far, no one, not even Robin, had found her. She was squatting uncomfortably, but triumphant, inside an empty rain barrel, listening to the voices of the others searching for her.

"Where could she be?" Much was crying, clearly worried. "If anything happens to her, Robin...I mean, Marian! She could be anywhere! What if she ran off into the forest, all alone? What if she-"

"She didn't, Much," Robin insisted. "Marian knows the rules. We have to hide somewhere in the village."

"And since when has Marian followed your rules?" Much asked.

Marian heard nothing on Robin's part. She smiled, picturing the look on his face as he thought over the implication of Much's words. At last, she heard him decide, "She wouldn't do it, Much. I trust her." And then, after a brief silence, she heard Robin say, "What?"

"I'm not saying anything," Much replied, with an air of superiority in his tone.

Marian cringed when she heard Kate's whiney voice saying, "We've looked for her long enough. It's my turn to hide now."

"Not until we find Marian," Robin demanded.

Much cleared his throat and told Kate, "You've got something hanging from your nose. Oh! Don't eat it! That is revolting!"

Marian cringed again. Kate often had a runny nose, and it was disgusting the way she would pick her nose and eat it.

All of a sudden, the lid to her barrel was yanked off, and Marian looked up to find Robin grinning down at her. "Found you, Wren!" Robin boasted, helping her climb out of the barrel. _"Now_ it's your turn to hide, Kate," Robin told the scraggly blond, still grinning proudly at Marian.

"Close your eyes," Kate ordered, climbing into Marian's rain barrel the moment they weren't looking.

Kate would stay in the barrel the rest of the afternoon, waiting for Robin to find her, only emerging when she couldn't hold herself back any longer from having to pee. For something momentous happened that made Robin, Marian, and Much forget all about the game, and about Kate hiding.

King Henry himself came riding into the village, completely unannounced, but accompanied by several soldiers and high officials, as well as his youngest daughter, the Princess Johanna.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," Robin said, dropping down on one knee with bowed head. "Welcome to Locksley."

Marian dropped a curtsey, but Much stood by, gaping open mouthed, at the sight of unexpected royalty.

The king, vigorous as always, leaped from his horse, helped the princess dismount, then approached his young host.

"Forgive this unexpected visit," he said, his face inscrutable. "We bring news from Ireland."

"Would Your Majesty care to come inside?" Robin asked, excited to hear news of his father.

"Lead the way," the king commanded.

Robin smiled goodbye to Much, then politely gestured to Marian to enter his house first, as if she was his "lady." Marian felt pleased and flattered, especially when she caught a glint of jealousy in Princess Joan's eyes.

Thornton was clearly nervous at the King's approach, but Marian's father responded to the surprise visit with calm dignity.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," he said, bowing. "Your Highness, my lords. Welcome."

King Henry, ever restless, did not take the seat offered to him. Instead, he called Robin to stand before him, and before everyone assembled, held out Lord Locksley's sword.

Robin and Marian were completely confused when the assembled lords and gentlemen bowed their own heads to him.

"My father's sword," Robin said, still not understanding. "Excuse me, Your Majesty, but where is my father?"

"Your father died a valiant warrior, giving his life serving his king and country. You, lad, must now assume his titles. You are now Lord of Locksley and Earl of Huntington."

Robin couldn't take it in. He'd heard the king's words, and saw the tragic looks on the faces of the servants and Marian's father, as well as Marian's surprised, sympathetic face, but it didn't feel real to him.

"But my father," he stammered, wide eyed. "He can't be killed. Stute wouldn't let them get him."

"Stute?" the king asked.

One of his lords clarified, whispering into the royal ear.

"Ah, yes, the archer," King Henry said. "He, too, died a hero's death."

Robin felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He couldn't breathe, not believing what he'd just heard.

"Go on, lad," the king was saying. "Take your father's sword. It's yours now, as is everything on your lands. You, Your Grace, have the priviledge of being the youngest Earl in my kindgom! I am sorry for your loss, of course, but take heart. Your noble father did not die in vain. Ireland now lies completely under my domain, and I mean for Johnny to have it. No more 'John Lackland' for my favorite son! Now, while I conduct business with the Lord Sheriff, I leave you with Princess Joan. When she learned I was coming here, she insisted I bring her along, and I never deny her anything, do I, Pet?"

"No, father, you do not," the princess agreed, smiling pleasantly at Robin.

"It seems you made quite an impression on her, boy, on her recent visit here with the Queen. She pestered me relentlessly to bring her here, just so she could see you again. What do you say to that, Robert?"

Robin blinked his eyes, in shock from the King's news. In a voice sounding strange and far away to him, he managed to say, "I am honored by Her Highness's regard."

His father's sword felt cold and heavy in his hands. He didn't know what to do with it. It wasn't his; it belonged to his father. Surely his father would shortly walk through the door, tell the King he was mistaken, and scold Robin for holding his sword. But even while he hoped it would be so, he knew in his heart it would never happen.

Princess Joan was telling him to hand the sword to Thornton, who took it from Robin with eyes nearly as surprised and sorrowful as Robin's.

"Where can we go to talk?" the princess was asking, and Robin, hardly knowing what he was doing, led her up the stairs of his home to his room.

Marian watched them head upstairs, feeling sad and hurt for Robin. As soon as her father became occupied with the King, she raced up the stairs after them, knowing Robin needed a true friend instead of a spoiled princess.


	23. Chapter 23

"Robin," Princess Joan said, once they were alone in his room, "I can't tell you how sorry I am about your lord father's death. But you can be proud of the way he died, serving his country."

Robin felt too stunned to answer. "I don't understand," he muttered quietly. "The king said he's going to give Ireland to Prince John. I thought my father was fighting so it would stay in Irish hands."

"Don't be silly," the princess stated. "Why should my father let the Irish keep control, when they can't even protect their own borders? This wasn't the first time their king begged for my father's help. It's ours now, thanks in part to the bravery of your father."

Robin remained silent, too hurt and confused to speak.

While Princess Joan walked about his room, curiously examining all Robin's belongings, she tried to explain. "John, beast though he is, needed some land, after all. Hal, as the oldest surviving son, will get England and Normandy. Richard will inherit our mother's duchy of Aquitaine. And Geoffrey will have Brittany, along with his bride, your Aunt Constance. Father had absolutely nothing left to offer John, which is ironic, considering John is the only one of his legitimate sons who didn't openly rebel against him. Well, that war is over, thank God, though Father swears never to forgive our mother, wrongly accusing her of turning my brothers against him."

Robin had heard about the Plantagenet family rebellion, and had privately supported the queen and princes against King Henry, but none of that mattered to him now. His father was dead. And not only his father, distant though loving, but his friend, Will Stutely, the man who had taught him to shoot! Robin couldn't believe he'd never hear Will's gravelly voice scold him ever again.

Joan didn't care for silence, or sorrow. She liked to be surrounded by smiles and cleverness, pageantry and laughter. She hoped Robin would snap out of his cheerless mood shortly, and amuse her, as he'd done on her previous visit.

"My father is very generous to his children," she continued, as a way to steer the conversation to the topic she really wanted to discuss. "Leonora and Tilda were given excellent husbands. I'm the only daughter left, and dreadfully spoiled, so I'm told. But you don't find me so very bad, do you, Robin?"

The boy could only shake his head.

"I thought not! But anyway, it's my turn to be married off next, and I'm hoping I might have some say in my own bridegroom! What do you think? My father wants to marry me to William, the King of Sicily! But I might persuade him against it, if I work really hard."

The door to the room pushed open, and little Marian Fitzwalter enterred.

Joan saw Robin look gratefully into Marian's face, then quickly turn and look away.

Robin didn't want to cry, but he felt he would if he continued looking into the kindness he found in Marian's eyes.

"Robin, I'm so sorry," Marian said, truly meaning it.

The boy remained stoic. At all costs, he couldn't let Marian see him hurt.

"It's alright," he said, baffling his friend. "I was just listening to the princess tell me about her wedding."

Marian was so confused, she couldn't speak. So Joan spoke for both the silent, confused children.

"The Sicilian King is very rich, but old! And look at me! I'm young, and quite beautiful! I don't think I want to move to Sicily! I think I might rather want to stay in England, if I can find a suitable husband here, among the nobility. What do you think, Robin? My mother the queen suggested I marry you, when we're of age."

Both Robin and Marian stared at the princess in utter disbelief, then turned and looked at one another.

Without thinking, Robin reached for and grabbed Marian's hand, saying, "No, Your Highness. You need to go to Sicily, and be a queen. I could never marry you."


	24. Chapter 24

_It's alright to cry, Robin. Go on...cry. Everyone will understand._

Marian didn't feel how very tired she was in her concern over Robin. His father's funeral ceremony was long and depressing, and had reached its final stage in the graveside prayers offered now over the closed coffin. A cold wind, stronger on the hilltop overlooking Locksley, whipped Marian's hair in her face and fanned her cloak away from her body. The little girl shivered, and stepped closer beside her father's warm, protective presence, feeling Robin's loss even greater, for he had no father now to depend on to shield him from life's trials and dangers.

Richard of Dover, Archbishop of Canterbury, presided over this funeral of one of England's highest peers, not to mention war hero. Humble Friar Tuck, as different as day from night from the pompous, glorious archbishop, assisted, shedding tears for the dead, as well as for the young surviving orphaned heir.

_Cry, Robin,_ Marian's heart was pleading. _Friar Tuck hasn't stopped crying, from the Absolution ceremony performed in your house, to the Requiem Mass and prayers said at the church, to these final prayers and sprinkling of Holy Water on this hilltop. Please cry. You don't have to be so brave, you know._

Marian had cried herself, at the church, when the late Earl's war-horse had been paraded down the aisle of the church in full accoutrement. "Why," she'd whispered to her father, "did they bring Baron to church?"

"Lord Locksley died a war hero," Lord Knighton answered quietly. "It is customary for a passing hero's mount to be led to the altar, to honor the hero's sacrifice."

Squeezing her father's arm, Marian thought about how sad it was, and how sad Baron must be feeling without his master. She was glad her own father had not gone to Ireland, yet she felt respect for the late Earl, and a sense of awe at him for dying a hero's death, for England.

Is that why Robin wouldn't cry, she wondered. Was his pride in his father so much greater than his sorrow? His boyishly handsome face was pale and expressionless, missing its usual vitality, and his chin was set and determined.

The people of Locksley were crying, Much more than anyone else, and once the coffin had been lowered into the freshly dug grave, sprinkled with yet more Holy Water, and covered with dirt and stones beside Robin's mother's grave, Marian watched as Robin sought to offer comfort to those who mourned.

"Thank you," she heard him tell the Widow Tannerson, Will Stutley's occasional bedmate. "They'll both be missed. Stute died a hero, too, you know, even if his body wasn't brought home for burial. We'll honor him with a ceremony, soon, I promise. And if you need anything, anything at all, feel free to come to me. I want to help everyone, and be a just, true lord to you."

"Bless him, his heart's as big as England, but what good can a mere lad do?" Marian overheard several serfs complain.

"Father," Marian asked, pulling on the sheriff's sleeve. "Who will help Robin? And why won't he cry?"

"His tears will come in their own time," Sir Edward said gently. "And we will help him, Marian, you and I, and all his people who love him so much."

"I do love him, father. But how can I help him?"

"By just being you, child. Now, let us go pay our respects to him, as is proper."

...

**(Note: I haven't updated this story in ages, but when I noticed it was OCTOBER 14th, Robin Hood's birthday, I just had to update! Not exactly an enjoyable chapter, but the earlier chapters of this story are quite fun, in my humble opinion. **

**Thanks to all my loyal readers! I'll continue the other two stories still ongoing, never fear!)**


	25. Chapter 25

"I hate pulling things! Especially when it's a cow!"

Not two weeks following the funeral of Lord Locksley, and Much was forced to pull Claribelle, a large heifer Robin had given his friend's family, by a rope tied around her neck.

"Go! Move, you stupid...you stupid...cow! Go! Giddyup!"

A voice right behind his ear, teasing, "Having fun, Much?" made him jump to the treetops.

"You! Why do you always, always do that?"

Robin, pleased with himself, laughed out loud, his eyes twinkling with merriment. "What did I do?" he asked, innocently.

"You know what you did! How do you sneak up on people, anyway?"

"How, or why?"

"I know why! There's something seriously wrong with you, did you know that, that makes you like to watch me jump! I asked you how!"

Robin, still grinning, ignored the question and studied Claribelle, who would rather stand still and eat the meadow grass than go where Much led her. "You're doing it all wrong, Much," he advised, cockily. "Maybe, instead of pulling, you should get behind her, and push."

For a moment, Much seemed to consider Robin's suggestion. And then, realizing the joke, he good-naturedly fumed, "Oh, no! I'm not pushing a cow, from behind! You do it, if you're so sure it will work!"

Much was glad to find Robin so merry, after such a short period of mourning his father's, and Will Stutely's deaths. He hadn't seen his friend much at all, since Robin had been orphaned and named Lord Locksley and the Earl of Huntington, and it was wonderful to find him acting his regular, impudent self. He didn't realize that it was indeed an act, for Robin still grieved, and was forcing his merriment, to put aside and forget his grief.

All at once, Robin grew serious. "There's Marian," he said simply, a hundred jumbled feelings colliding within him at the sight of the Sheriff's small daughter running toward them.

Robin hadn't seen her since his father's funeral, and the sight of her now, with her lovely blue eyes looking so kindly into his, made him worry he might break down and cry. Yet he was overjoyed to see her, too, having missed her for the past week and a half.

Marian knew better than to question him how he was, but she knew he must be hurting, and the motherly instinct already stirring within her made her long to comfort him, if he'd only let her.

"What are you doing with Claribelle?" she asked kindly, stroking the cow's sturdy back.

Robin didn't answer. He couldn't look any more into her kind, questioning eyes, fearing he might cry. Instead, he stared hard at her little white hand stroking the animal with so much tenderness, wondering how it would be to feel that soft caress.

Much spoke up. "Hello, Marian! I'm trying to pull Claribelle to Old Man Elbert's bull, so they can...can...Oh! You know what!"

"So they can be married?" Marian's sweet face and calm voice showed none of Much's blushing chagrin. "Do you want a husband, Claribelle?" she asked the cow, as if really expecting an answer.

Claribelle continued munching grass, completely unperturbed.

"That's where you're taking her?" Robin laughed to Much, recovering his merry façade. "I'd expect her to be pulling _you_ there, instead of the other way!"

"Why do you say that?" Marian asked him, growing annoyed at his cocky demeanor and implication against her sex. "Not every woman wants to be married, you know! Think of all the nuns!"

"It all depends on whom they're marrying!" Robin laughed. "Take me, for instance! When I grow up, whoever catches me won't be able to wait to drag me into church!"

"And I suppose you'll try to run away, to escape?" Marian fumed, forgetting her sympathy in her outright anger.

It felt like a direct insult to her, somehow, though she couldn't explain why.

"Don't get angry Marian," Robin laughed, forgetting his unhappiness in his pleasure at provoking her. "All I'm saying is, the girl who wants to marry me, had better start practicing running now! I'm fast, you know."

Much, used to their arguments, ignored them. Digging his heels into the ground, he planted himself firmly to put all his weight into trying to budge Claribelle. But she didn't move a muscle.

Marian rolled her eyes over Robin's boastful audacity. _Why do you have to act this way? I thought you'd be sad, over your father! You act like you don't even care!_

"Let me try," she offered Much. "Claribelle will come with me, won't you, Girl?"

Thankful and relieved, Much handed her the rope. But Robin grew worried.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he cautioned, serious once again. "Give me the rope, Marian. Once Claribelle catches the scent of Old Man Elbert's bull, she might start running."

"Toward him, or away?" she asked, smugly.

"I mean it, Marian," Robin warned. "She could drag you a mile or more."

"If she bolts, I'll let go of the rope! I'm not a fool, like some people." Noticing Much's wounded look, she hastily assured him, "Oh, Much! I didn't mean you."

Robin looked angry, and Marian wished she hadn't been so mean. But he had infuriated her, hiding any sign of grief, and bragging about how desirable he would be as some unknown girl's future husband. He'd made her furious, as she pictured all the girls in the shire chasing after him.

While her temper still raged, she didn't have any more success than Much had, trying to move Claribelle. Focusing on the cow, she calmed her nerves, and began speaking soothing words in her ear. "Come on, Claribelle," she coaxed. "You'll be a lovely bride, and in the spring, you'll have the loveliest little calf to take care of! Would you like me to put some flowers on your head?"

Marian stepped away to pick some goldenrod that had somehow escaped the first frost of the season, and returned to place it on Claribelle's head. With a single shake, the cow knocked off the flowers, caught them in her mouth and feasted on them as she had the meadow grass.

Marian simply rolled her eyes, picked up the end of the rope, and commanded, "Let's go."

To Much's surprise, the cow picked up her feet and walked alongside Marian.

"How did she do that?" Much asked Robin, aghast. "You have no idea what trouble that cow gave me!"

Robin didn't answer, but he felt a flush of pride rush through him, at Marian being able to command Claribelle.

_I'd follow you, too, if you'd whisper in my ear,_ he thought, then was surprised that he'd thought it.

He wasn't entirely easy, letting Marian hold the rope. He didn't want anything to happen to her, should the cow decide to bolt. Still, he trusted Marian, knowing she'd let go of the rope, should anything happen.

He relaxed, and began to truly enjoy himself, in the company of the two people he liked best in the entire world. He pushed aside thoughts of his father and Will Stutely, and enjoyed the pale autumn sunshine, shining down on Marian's glossy dark hair.


	26. Chapter 26

The three young friends were happy together, escorting Much's cow Claribelle through meadows and pastures, on their way to Old Man Elbert's bull.

To Much's amazement, Claribelle gave Marian not a single spot of trouble, but Robin understood why, admiring the girl's rare gift with animals. For the moment, he forgot all about his grief and burdens, and could relax and be the little boy he was, not the newly orphaned Earl of Huntington, weighed down with responsibilities. There was a swagger in his step, and he longed to show off to impress Marian.

Lifting his bow, he boasted, "Bet I can bring down that bunch of mistletoe in that tree with a single shot."

"That is a waste of arrows," Marian told him, unimpressed, leading the cow by a rope. "Why do you need mistletoe, anyway?"

Chuckling impudently, Robin teased her, "Why do you think? So I can hold it over your head, and Much can kiss you."

"Me?" Much cried out, surprised. "I'm not the one who wants to-OW!"

"Sorry about that," Robin told his friend, having trod on his foot to shut him up. "Can you think of a better target?"

"I could do with some apples," Much suggested. "Or some pears. I'm hungry!"

"I'd need a fruit tree, Much," Robin reminded him, "and we're nowhere near an orchard."

They were approaching Old Man Elbert's cottage, and Claribelle began sniffing the air. "Do you think she can smell the bull?" Marian asked, holding more tightly to the rope.

"Maybe she smells bread baking," Much hoped. "Maybe Old Man Elbert will share some with us!"

"Well, if he won't, you can have some at my house," Robin offered. "Come any time you're hungry. And that offer stands for everyone in Locksley..."

Before he could finish his thought, Claribelle, picking up the bull's scent, lunged forward, and began running toward it, dragging Marian behind her.

"Stop, Claribelle!" Marian cried, stumbling and then falling to the ground.

Robin and Much stopped in their tracks, frozen in surprise. "Let go of the rope!" Robin called out, alarmed to see little Marian bouncing behind the cow as it thundered away.

"I can't!" she called back. "It's wrapped 'round my wrist, and I can't let go! Stop, Claribelle! Please, stop!"

"Come on, Much," Robin ordered, dashing off after the cow. "Run!"

Much ran after Robin, but with Claribelle's head start, there was no way the boys could catch up. Marian had stopped shouting, yet she was still being dragged through the meadow grass, unable to let go.

Robin knew he had to save her. His face was grim and serious as he raised his bow, nocked an arrow and took aim.

"You're not going to shoot Claribelle, are you, Robin?" Much asked, worried.

Robin did not answer, but continued aiming, judging the cow's speed while praying desperately that his arrow would not fly astray and hit Marian.

It was the most important shot of his life, and he held his breath as his arrow sailed through the air, hitting its mark as it sliced through the rope connecting Marian to Claribelle.

Claribelle continued rushing toward Old Man Elbert's, and Robin and Much ran nearly as quickly to Marian's side.

The little girl, battered and bleeding, was lying silently on the ground, knocked unconscious by a blow to her head. Desperate with worry, Robin dropped to his knees beside her.

"Much, get help!" he ordered.

"Who-who-who do I get? Oh, wake up, Marian!"

"Stay here with her," Robin decided, taking off his cloak and placing it over her body. "I'll bring Matilda!"

Before Much could blink, Robin was off running for the forest cottage of the midwife and healer.

Tears stung his eyes as he ran faster than he'd ever run before, tears he'd never let Marian see.

_You can't die, too! _he was thinking. _You've got to be alright, for I don't know what I'll do if you're not! What have I done, letting you pull the cow? _


	27. Chapter 27

Regaining consciousness, Marian opened her eyes. Confused at finding herself lying on the grass in the meadow, yet enjoying the sun's warmth on her face, she tried sitting up, only to fall back down as pain shot through her.

Everything hurt, especially one wrist, which was rubbed raw from the thick rope still wrapped around it. "I want my father," she whimpered, in a small voice.

Suddenly, seeing Much standing anxiously over her, she realized she wanted Robin, as well.

"Robin?" she called out, faintly.

"He's gone to fetch Matilda," Much told her, shifting back and forth on his feet. "You know him...he'll be back straight away! Are you alright, Marian? I mean, I'm glad you're awake, because you wouldn't wake up before, and for a moment there...for a moment there, I thought-"

"Where's Claribelle?"

Much snorted in derision. "Her! She's run off to Old Man Elbert's bull, the hussy, and she nearly took you with her! And I must say, after all the trouble she caused, she'd better have twin calves in the spring! That would be nice, wouldn't it? Robin gives my family one cow, and then, after a time, we have...we have...how many cows will we have, if Claribelle has twins? I can't count, you know."

"Three," Marian told him, grimacing from all the pains jabbing at her small body. She felt light-headed listening to Much's ramblings, and she hurt so badly, she began to cry.

"Oh, dear!" Much worried, fumbling about in search of a handkerchief, which he didn't possess. "Don't cry, Marian!"

She instantly obeyed his request, not because it was easy, but because she saw Robin running toward her, with Matilda in pursuit.

She couldn't let Robin see her cry! She had be braver than that, to impress him. After all, she had never seen him cry, not even at his father's funeral. For that matter, she'd never seen him hurt, even when he'd broken his ankle, trying to do a back flip jumping off the roof of his stables. Though pale and gasping, he'd forced a smile at her and discussed how he could correct his mistake and do it better the next time, which he did fearlessly, once he had healed. No. Marian refused to cry, though her body was screaming with pain.

"How are you feeling?" Robin asked her, dropping down beside her with a face as anxious as Much's.

"I hurt," she admitted, feeling better just having him near. "I want my father."

"I'll get him."

"No. Please stay. Could you get him, Much?"

"Me?"

Flabbergasted, Much's mind immediately conjured up all sorts of obstacles standing in his way of fetching the Sheriff of Nottingham. "Me?" he repeated. "Well! I suppose I can try!"

"Go, Much," Robin ordered him. "Run!"

Picking up his feet, Much hurried off in the wrong direction, then had to correct himself twice, before running toward Nottingham, muttering, "I hate this!" as he went.

"Now, then," Matilda said, dropping to her knees beside the little girl and letting her eyes take a swift inventory of her bumps and bruises. "Let's just see what the damage is!" Teasingly, she jested, "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's dangerous to take a cow for a walk?"

"It's my fault," Robin said, seriously. "I'm older. I shouldn't have let her. I'm so sorry, Wren."

Touched, Marian told him, "No, it was my fault. I said I'd let go of the rope, but I wrapped it 'round my wrist, and I couldn't. How did I get free, anyway? Did the rope snap?"

"It did, when my arrow sliced it," Robin admitted, too worried even to brag.

"Can you be quiet a minute, and let me work?" Matilda scolded both children, fondly. "There now! Let's get rid of this rope, for starters."

Cutting it off with Robin's knife, Matilda next washed and applied a salve to Marian's wrist, satisfied that only the skin was damaged. "This should prevent a scar," she told the girl. "Your future husband wouldn't want to see his wife marked now, would he?"

"He wouldn't care," Robin insisted, boldly jutting out his chin.

His fierce attitude made Matilda smile to herself knowingly. _So, you fancy yourself in the role already, do you?_ she was thinking._ That's as pretty a thought as the pair of you! Well, let's hope you don't kill yourselves with your heroics, before you have a chance to grow up!_


End file.
